Piratae Hetalia
by One.Eye.Opened
Summary: In the blinding light, a shadow made itself known. Torn sails fluttered as a battleship glided through the metre high waves, her hull forcing her way through the deep dark seas. A blazing Union Jack soaring proudly. But as countries battle others for control, many have to fight for survival, the waves of piracy and war flooding the world, forming a new era where only power rules.
1. Wrath of the English Devil

I just feel that there needs to be more battle fics on Hetalia...Most of its Yaoi...i have nothing wrong on yaoi, i like rochu...alot...but there could be a lot of opportunity for battles and action sequences aru

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><p>Pirate!England vs. Pirate!Spain –English Devil<p>

Thunder clashed and the winds wailed into the faces of soaked men and drenched sails. The waves blanked the decks of the ship before dying, quickly replaced by another. In an instant the skies were illuminated with the blue – purple of lightening, as the Spanish flag danced wildly in the crazed light. Leaning over with a worrying angle, the battleship turned abruptly, her guns blazing as she faced her nemesis. Another bolt scorched the skies as the resonating thunder moulded with the sound of the blasting cannons. In the blinding light, a shadow made itself known. Torn sails fluttered as it glided through the metre high waves, her hull forcing her way through the deep dark seas. A blazing Union Jack proudly soaring.

Barking orders in rapid Spanish, a young man wrenched on the wheel of the ship, rich dark brown hair kept in a rough ponytail, green eyes never leaving the British ship. Lightning crashed between the speeding ships. For a blinding second the two captains made a brief glance at the other's eyes. Piercing green eyes under abnormally large eyes brows made contact with the Spaniards own livid green ones, scowling, when in that fleeting moment the young British captain had removed his extravagant feathered hat, nodded and smirked. Instinctively Antonio Fernandez Carriedo gripped the hilt of his sword, eyes narrowing as he barked orders. The two ships slowly approaching the other.

Placing the hat back on his head, Arthur Kirkland continued to shout orders. His black leather boots tapping lightly on the wood as he lead his own battleship towards the Spanish.

The storm continued to ravage the seas as the enemy ships finally aligned next to each other, cannons ringing loudly, sparks flying in the grey darkness. Time and time again the two ships were so close that men could see the whites of the eyes of the other crew, guns already blazing in the air. Determined to get back at the English, the Spaniard shouted a resonating order then slammed the ship into the side of the British ship, the wood screeching at the sudden contact, masts tangling. Abandoning the wheel, Antonio slashed at a rope, grabbing on quickly; he joined the barrage of his crew already invading the deck of Kirkland's ship.

Carriedo's leather shoes landed softly on the wooden deck as his eyes searched earnestly for any sign of the English captain. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the messy, ragged blonde hair under the feathery hat. Running on the sails with uncanny balance, Antonio watched the man run deftly before landing on his own Spanish ship, bowing his head as he began to attack Carriedo's crew. Swearing briefly, Antonio, turned on Kirkland's crew, two players could play this game.

Glancing over his shoulder Arthur spied the Spaniard attacking his crew, so he wanted it that way. Already Antonio was approaching the stern of the ship, indeed he didn't disappoint, and he was as good as the rumours had said. But Kirkland didn't have rumours himself for no reason. Deciding his crew would be fine in taking over the Spanish ship, he returned to the mast. With his bloody sword he slashed some ropes. With their tension cut, Kirkland shot through the billowing sails, easily passing though the barrier between the tangled ships. But a sudden gut feeling made him stop. Crashing into the ship, a bolt of lightning screeched between the ships, automatically causing a wave of fire to add to the already growing flames.

Cursing, Antonio rushed to his ship; he needed to help with the flames before they got out of hand. Leaping over the deck he landed swiftly before the flames. But already the ship wasn't faring well.

"Pleasant day, isn't it?"

The world seemed to freeze as Antonio felt the cold blade pressed to the back of his neck. The world moved in slow motion, as he turned and faced the Englishman, his own sword at the ready,

"Wonderful."

As wills clashed so did blades. Antonio's red coat flashed a minute to be replaced by Arthur's blue coat. Any wandering seaman would be foolish to get between the fight of the captains. Caught in a dance of murderous intent, they moved in blurs, equally skilled and always trying to get the edge over the other. Antonio lunged quickly in succession each in a completely different spot. Already anticipating, Arthur countered all the attacks with a flick of his sword before stumbling. Seeing this as a chance, Antonio lunged, a cocky smirk plastered on his face. At the last moment Arthur spun on the ball of his foot, dodging the deadly weapon as it slammed into the mast. Antonio's eyes widened at the sudden predicament. Ready to make the killing move Arthur raised his sword. But, at that moment the ship lurched suddenly, giving Antonio the chance to rip his sword out of the mast and counter the incoming strike.

During the fight the fire had spread and burned so that a chunk of wood fell in between the two captains, splitting then up. Taking the opportunity Captain Kirkland fled the standoff, climbing the burning masts with precision. Not to be undone, Captain Carriedo reacted, snatching a flying rope, running and kicking off the wood, he soared into the air. Finding a footing, he walked onto the sails.

Having time to observe his surroundings, Arthur had found that the ships had separated in the chaos but still close enough that he could jump across to his ship. Apparently each ship still had gunpowder and cannons and had continued to bombard each other. Feeling rather than seeing or hearing the sudden presence on the sails, Arthur smirked. Waiting behind the canvas sails he watched the shadow of his rival magnify in the flashing skies.

"I know you're here, Kirkland." He spat out the name,

"Where else would I be?" the distinctive, thickly accented voice replied.

"Oh, I was just hoping you'd be dead."

"I'm sorry to disappoint."

"No, now I can kill you myself."

"Still sour over last time, are you, Carriedo?"

Carriedo smiled silently, he knew where the captain was now, slashing through the yellowing canvas, expecting to see the captain. But all he found was empty air. Given only a second to feel confused, an elbow drove into his stomach, knocking the air out of him and sending him plummeting towards the deck.

Rubbing his head, the fall was broken by a sail but there was still pain. But the pain seemed to disappear when the fire seemed to illuminate the glowering blood red shadow that strutted toward him. The blue coat mixed with the surrounding red, making him seem on fire himself. The feathers of his hat had survived the battle, blowing unrestricted in the wind. His eyes were shadowed by his unkempt blonde hair, a cunning smirk played on his face. This was the Captain Kirkland that was feared on the seven seas, the fact that he was called the English Devil by some of the most ruthless pirates made him even more fearful and terrifying. Antonio gulped as Kirkland's heeled leather boots slowly walked towards him, the sword tip at his neck.

"Interesting, I must say."

Taking a deep breath, Antonio threw the cinders he had clenched in his hand into Arthur's face. Shouting at the sudden attack, he backed away, rubbing at his eyes. Grabbing his neglected sword, Carriedo charged at the distracted captain. Slashing quickly, he pinned down the Englishman, kicking his sword away from him.

"My, my, isn't this an interesting development."

Even pinned down under the foot of the Spanish Captain, Kirkland still had the gall to smile.

"Well they don't call me the Red Terror for nothing."

Staring at the bright green eyes glaring down at him, Arthur smiled, his hands already fingering the dagger, it was risky but the other choice was death. There was clearly no competition. Swiftly he threw the cinders clutched in his other hand, just as he expected, Antonio was ready but while the pressure on his chest had lessened he brought the dagger to block the sword at his neck. Twisting the dagger he struck hard at the threatening blade. Causing the shock to send Carriedo back a few steps, rolling quickly he picked his sword back up, just making it in time to block the blood stained sword of the Red Terror.

"The English Devil doesn't disappoint."

"Why, did you think I would?"

They resumed slowly circling each other. Glaring daggers, while their swords rested lack by their sides. An unspoken agreement was settled as they clashed once more, but whether they killed each other or not, that was another issue. Both were tiring. Deciding the battle would be more beneficial if they continued on his ship, Arthur pushed Antonio across the deck. The Spanish captain proceeded to swing back to the sails and again they met on the sails, each balancing in the unstable wind. Antonio wincing as Arthur made a cut on his thigh but amply paid by a slice on his arm.

"This is getting rather tiresome, shall we get this over and done with?" the British asked.

"I guess. So all in?"

Both smirked, each convinced of their victory.

With the sudden want to win, both launched at the other with a flaring passion. Speed and power increased unexpectedly. Any other swordsman, pirate or unfortunate person unlucky enough to encounter either captain's path would have been dead without a single breath but at the moment both battled evenly. That was, until Antonio realised that he was on Arthur's ship. Technically it would make no difference but he had a feeling that the Englishman had something up his sleeve. After all it was his ship.

Glaring lightly Antonio, pushed back towards his ship, but the distance between the two battle ships had become too great while, he stabbed at Arthur's torso, but the man in question attacked with his own slashes. Neither giving up they cut each other, stabbed, blades covered in blood. With a sudden urge, Antonio shouted, his eyes clouded in battle fury. He attacked at Kirkland with remarkable speed and agility pinning him to the wall with his sword. But he faltered at the unusual smile that the man held.

He laughed.

He had laughed when he was about to die.

But just then Antonio realised the pressure on the area where his heart was.

He looked down, a dagger was pressed at his chest while the others sword was behind his neck. Shocked he slumped.

"You lose, Carriedo."

The English Captain had played him all along.

"H…How…?"

You made a single mistake, you played on my turf. I hope you remember that next time we battle."

Wait!

"Next time?"

"My orders were to capture you and your ship if I could; I was never meant to intend to kill you."

The Spaniard glanced over to his ship, indeed the Union Jack was already fluttering on the flagpole. He felt his hands being tied up.

"Then I'll remember that next time, Devil. Next time you shall be the one with his hands behind his back."

"I look forward to that challenge, but don't be so sure you'll win."

He was on his knees, his own sword at his throat.

"Because you might not survive the trip back to England. I said that I wouldn't kill you but what can we say for neutral forces?"

Arthur turned and entered his cabin, his coat dancing behind him, ordering the Spaniard be taken to the deepest part of the ship.

Antonio glared; he had deserved the name, English Devil.


	2. Escape of the Red Terror

A/N - soo i have decided to actually continue this story~ and thanks to all the people who read the stuff i write aru X3

first off me want to thank my awesome beta as usual~  
>I hope this doesnt disappoint aru~<p>

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><p><span>Chapter 2 :<span> Escape of the Red Terror

His mind reeled with the creaking of the ship, the cold heavy chain dragging down on his collarbone. No light entered the rotting crevice, even the sewer rats and lice dared not venture so far into the English ship. Alone. He was alone, cold, starving and imprisoned on the ship of his worst possible enemy, the one that could beat him. Smiling ruefully he hauled his head onto the damp wood, the numb, aching creeping of starvation crawling up his body, calling him, tempting him to give into the deep dark abyss. Dulling his already limited senses, it would have been better if he was dead. Damn that cursed English Devil; probably enjoying his meals up in the cosy rich cabin of his while he rotted with the skeletons of weak, hopeless prisoners. No, he was not going to end up like them, he Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was going to escape and hell would run from the vengeance he was going to wrought on the future corpse of the British Pirate that had imprisoned him.

He smirked as he heard the resonating clang of the chequered bars of his cage slam shut. Recognising the sharp footsteps that approached near him he opened a single eye, a dead smile on his face.

"It isn't a usual occurrence that you visit me, Arthur."

"Thought you could use the company."

"I could use company but yours would only make me rot faster, senior."

"Then I should come more often, shan't I?"

The Spanish captain looked darkly at the Englishman, "That won't be necessary."

"Hmm?"

Using every ounce of depleted strength the Spaniard clutched at the lace covering Kirkland's throat, his body weak and starving, his eyes burning with the power of nigh one hundred men.

"I will leave this dying ship and believe me when I say this Devil, you will endure more than just hell, when I get my hands on you."

Arthur flicked the bony hands barely holding on to his clothes, "All you can mutter are half-cursed revenge plans for my sinful soul, why can't we just enjoy a civil conversation without you spluttering some horrid way to kill me."

"Trust me, Kirkland; we will have no civil conversations as long as you live."

Arthur only glared impassively as he walked out of the cage, "I might as well enlighten you on the fact we are nearly approaching your execution, so please make yourself lively."

Antonio's eyes widened as the footsteps echoed into the distance. Land, light, the smell of the waves crashing onto shores, the rustic sand keeping secrets hidden for eternity. The words of execution passed wistfully past his head, he was going to see the light, the sea, the salt – crusted air. He was going to escape. He laughed, a happy glad laugh that filled the decaying room like music, he felt again the vigour and life he had lost in the wood encrusted prison. Escape was easy, he had lived through many executions already, and this would only be another addition to his collection.

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><p>Pacing around the luxurious room, Captain Arthur Kirkland sighed, he was going home, to the island nation that he loved, to the chaotic but addicting streets of London, to the pubs in the lonely corners of alleys, to life he used to live.<p>

Snapping out of his daze, Arthur smiled, looking out into the tinged orange skies; they would arrive at sunset, his personal favourite time to arrive at port. Leaning over his desk, he looked over the detailed, carefully drawn maps. The thin lines representing countries, seas, previously uncharted island, these were the records of his success. Once again he was lost in his memories, the thrill for battle, the rush of superiority and the sheer exhilarating feeling of power, the feeling that the whole world was in his hands.

He swung on a majestic blood red coat, the gold crafted button shimmering in the sinking light, the singed feathers of his black hat, whispering onto his shoulder. His cutlass hung securely on his hip and his heeled boots clicked meticulously.

"Get the prisoner out, I want my weight in gold for him."

Jumping unorthodoxly over the railing of his ship, Captain Kirkland directed for the former Spanish captain to be taken to court. He led the way through the polluted streets to the higher class society of the city, to the gallows where a rope was waiting.

Dark, glowing eyes watched the Spaniard as he weakly walked, hands bound behind his back, a chain around his throat. He could feel the hatred burning into his back, the snivelling and snorts as loud as the thunder that plagued his sea trips, but he only smirked at the response he was receiving, the feeling of being so hated, so repulsive to others. In a way he wanted to disgust them further, in a way, he enjoyed the feeling, on the verge of seeing their surprised faces as he left them in his wake, when he would humiliate the beliefs they held oh so closely. The Spaniard knew London; he knew where to hide, where to fight and where to escape, where to return to his beloved homeland. He knew that the pirate, whose head was being subject to laser glares, knew every city that he had been captured in, including his own capital of Madrid.

Both of them were experts at escaping, at fighting, at surviving. Antonio was wondering why it was going to be so easy.

Distracted from his thoughts of freedom, Antonio smiled at the uniformed men standing as still as statues on the roads next to him, all holding muskets, soulless eyes staring straight ahead of themselves.

"All these soldiers for _me_? I'm flattered Mr Kirkland."

It was time to begin.

"Of course."

A smile glued on his face, Antonio walked up the few steps onto the platform, rope hanging ever so tauntingly. Bowing lowly to his blank audience, he felt the rough, itchy coils of rope tighten around his neck. Time slowed, the black birds flew as if in sticky honey, the bells rung in long endless drones, the coat of the English Captain hovered in mid-air and the Spaniards mouth twitched as his dangerously bright green eyes laughed in the sunset.

Cut.

The rope was cut, in a single, clean slice.

Why? It was obvious. How? Only the best knew. The way to cheat death as its hands clasped coldly onto ones throat. A trick, a lie, a shout as the Spanish captain ran free.

Mild surprise dawned over Arthur's face, to him, it was an old, boring trick but it was somewhat entertaining when someone else used it. He watched as Antonio laughed climbing onto the rooftops of buildings, light feet dancing as bullets rained on him. Unsheathing his sword he chased the Spaniard, following him onto the rooftops. Arthur watched as he grabbed a rope, feet poised to jump as a stray bullet skidded the tattered sleeve of his shirt, he watched as the captain looked over his shoulder, smirking at his escape.

And Arthur grinned viciously, the bloodlust of battle already pumping in his veins.

Unable to hear but able to read the words, Carriedo mouthed, "This is only the beginning."

Arthur smirked, there would be much more to this story. "Indeed."

And he jumped.

Scaling the rooftops of the lower ends of London, he enjoyed in pure bliss the cries, shouts and curses of British soldiers who were chasing him. Ever since they had let him out into the open, he was going to win. But had there been any competition, Kirkland had made no effort to truly imprison him. Even though said pirate was chasing him now. Why go to all the trouble of capturing him and not killing him straight off? Why give him the opportunity to escape? Both were skilled fighters, only a few could out do them, it would be a near impossible task to capture him now that he had survived. Oddly Antonio was frustrated at Arthur's lack of diligence to out right kill him. Oh how he would enjoy it when he finally saw the privateer on his knees begging to be killed. But still, the way Kirkland had smiled when he escaped nagged him to no end; he was expecting him to escape, probably just to get in a few strikes.

Hearing the skilled footsteps behind him, Antonio laughed, "If you're so adamant to kill me, you should've just shot me when you had the chance."

"There's no fun in killing, unless there's a bullet or sword through your heart."

"A waste of time if you ask me."

"It's the only reason you're alive, the benefit of my boredom."

"Then I'd rather die than be your entertainment."

"Then you're not doing a very good job."

Grunting Antonio jumped off the roof and landed straight onto the shoulders of a Red Coat. With a surprised shriek the musket was wrenched off the soldier as he was kicked to the ground. Antonio finally armed, sprinted off, dodging into the desolated corners of London, before, with enough momentum launching himself off the ground. Rubbing the leather of his shoes, he ran up the three storey windows, back flipping back onto the rusting tiles of the roof. The wind dragged at his loosely buttoned shirt, as he landed in front of the Englishman and brought the gun square at the head of a certain pirate.

"My, my, how the tables have turned."

Lifting his hands up casually, still grasping his sword, he swaggered to the Spanish captain, stopping a hairs length away. Piercing emerald green stared arrogantly into determined olive green ones. "I'll give you some advice."

"I need no advice from you." Finger stressed on the trigger, the bullet hole staring the Brit in the eyes.

"Concentrate on your escape, matey." Whispered the pirate, his eyes taking a quick glimpse at the streets, "We don't want anyone catching up now do we?"

Glancing at the soldiers not far behind them, guns ablaze, the Spaniard dropped to the ground, tripping Kirkland with his feet. Receiving a satisfying yelp as he leapt in mid-air, legs flailing out to balance himself. Rolling painfully onto the cobblestone ground, he grumbled as his bones ached under the sudden activity, but ignoring the pain, he ran. Antonio ran until he could no longer hear the dying whispers of the chasing men.

Slipping into a discarded alleyway, he reaffirmed his place, entering the port. Grabbing a hat off an unsuspecting drunkard, he hid his face under that shadows, already his appearance was different to the typical Brit, and he was sure he wouldn't get a second chance; Antonio didn't spare any time or mistakes in his art of escape, especially with the close run into being captured again.

Keeping to the shadows, his back constantly against the wall, Antonio surveyed the ships and all the people who boarded them. His sly eyes watched a group who stood out a little too much from the ordinary folk lining the ships. Tanned skin and thick brown hair. They were Spanish, confirmed even more by the bouts of Spanish Carriedo could read on their lips. This was his lucky day.

Strutting to the group trying aimlessly to blend in to the background, England was not a good place to be Spanish. "Hola." He waved to them, his eyes still covered by the battered hat. They all stopped instantly, freezing in preparing the boat. Stricken that someone else had found them. The stranger had speared out of nowhere and was still carrying a gun. Out of reflex the crews hand fell to their sides, to the guns and cutlasses.

Antonio smirked, what a reaction. "Don't worry." He flipped his hat up, exposing his face and his identity.

There were gasps and murmurs until a bold sailor stepped forward, "Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the saviour of the Spanish Armada, The Red Terror."

"Si, that's me."

"What are doing here, Captain?"

"I lost my ship." He answered quickly, "You don't happen to be sneaking back to Spain, do you?"

They glanced at each other quickly, some whispering behind him, oblivious to the fact that he could hear them. "Si."

"Don't mind if I tag along. I seem to be a little…hunted here."

The person walked forwards to the Captain, looking up at him, "It would be an honour," shaking hands with the pirate.

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><p>It was sunset.<p>

The Red Terror had escaped.

And it was only the beginning.

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><p>AN- soo opinions and please Read & Review (^.^)/  
>I apologise but i am terrible at updating aru...so dont expect too much...<p> 


	3. The Fall of the Dragon of the East

Black and White chess pieces standing, chess pieces falling.

But in Asia a different game was being played.

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><p>Golden eyes glowered at apathetic black ones, defiance flashing at arrogance.<p>

"WHY? WHY DO YOU BETRAY ME? AFTER ALL I'VE DONE FOR YOU!"

"You still believe in tradition, but there is nothing left for you but pain. I had to move forward, sacrifices had to be made."

"Is that all I am to you?" Yao's eyes wandered, his voice barely managing a whisper, trembling slightly.

"You had everything in the palm of your hand; the world was at your beck and call! Yet you let it go anyway. You were The _Dragon of the East_! You were the _King of Pirates_!" Kiku shouted at the wind, struggling to keep the desperation he was feeling out of his voice.

"That was the past aru. There is no point holding onto something which is gone."

"You could have fought! You could have won! You _let_ them defeat you!"

"You don't understand."

"I understand more than enough, you were _weak._" The Japanese man raised his sword at the Chinese pirate as the blood red fan-like sails magnified in the dying sunset on the sea, a crumbling slate of rotting grey. "You're running away from the world, from change, from process and the truth."

A rueful smile cracked onto the face of Wang Yao as he turned away, facing the sinking sun, gazing out as the last rays faded until they blinked out completely, leaving only the darkening sky, a swallowing mass of purple-shaded blue to be a sole spectator.

"If only we could've looked at the moon one last time."

Letting out a fierce battle cry Honda Kiku charged at the Chinese Captain. Aiming for his back, he wrenched the katana up as he moved to slash, the calm breaths shuddering over Yao's shoulders, the sharp tip of the katana snatching a thread of red cloth. Caramel eyes narrowed. _Clang!_ Metal clashed against metal as Yao deflected the incoming blow with his own sword, the impact forcing the two captains from each other, the overflowing sleeves of Yao's robes flying in mid-air, his long black hair shadowing his face. Kiku slid back from the force, his fingertips ghosting on the timber deck, absorbing the impact. Straightening, Kiku clutched at his forehead, fingers on his temples, leering at his silent opposition.

"As much as you want to be able to stand still and take it, you are a pirate Yao and you still have to fight for your survival."

"You amuse me Kiku; you talk as if I stopped having to fight for every morsel of success in this life." Kiku removed the hand shadowing his eyes, replacing it to lie lightly on the handle of a hidden gun. Yao pointed his sword at Kiku, "You talk as if you aren't doubting this." _Click._ Honda aimed the gun at the accusing Captain, "I'm not." The trigger pulled back, the steel gravitating, the gunpowder lighting, the lead ball sparking off, passing the predictive eyes of Wang Yao, into the amaranthine shadows of the masts.

Instantly Kiku came face to face with the now withdrawn expression of the Chinese captain as he feebly dodged the attack masked behind the apparent cowardice. Yao launched himself off the wood, twisting his body as he brought down a storm of fast slices. Responding forever a second late, Kiku let his mind escape, leaving only his instincts to ensure his survival, cutting his katana in the short distances that remained in between the multitude of oncoming attacks.

Already panting in need for oxygen, Kiku shot back from the wall of silent attacks, watching as Yao twisted his hands, twirling twin swords. The gun already pushed back into his belt, hanging dangerously, unable to balance in the frenzy. Besides the calm and hurried breathing of the two pirates, the ship was silent. There was no crew, gunshots or the blast of raging cannons, only the uneven breathing of the conflicting captains to break the silence, in the midst of the last dying rays of the sun, paying as the only audience to their battle.

Kiku regained his breath, finally his eyes becoming cold and distant. He held his sword tightly in his hand, the coursing energy of excitement, battle and exhilaration pumping thoroughly through his veins.

"I'm afraid you must be sacrificed for the new world."

"There must always be sacrifices."

Kiku rammed the sword towards Yao, immediately dropping to the floor, and skimming the sword across the bottom of the deck, unsurprised at only hitting the silent air. The Chinese captain hovered in the air, the soles of his shoes caressing the deck before they were caught in an unplanned and wild dance as swords battled for dominance in the hands of the rival captains. The meeting of swords lasted only for a fleeting moment before the two wrenched the metal away, aiming for a temporary weak spot that was vulnerable for one second and protected zealously the next.

China lunged with his double sword, his hands twisting the sword as he slashed at vital points in Kiku's defence. The Japanese man feinted an attack before thrusting the hilt of his katana into the diaphragm of Yao, disarming him as his breath was knocked out of him, the katana slicing its way at the neck of the Dragon of the East. Throwing his swords into the air, letting them cut through the silence, he ducked, his palms flat on the wooden deck. Spinning swiftly, Yao swiped at the legs of Honda, tripping the captain. Yao himself jumped up, just in time to catch his swords.

"Don't underestimate me ar-" A bullet whistled past him, catching, singeing a few hairs on its way. The Japanese man, pointing the revolver, stood behind Yao barely a second ago on the floor. Cocking his head slightly, Kiku let a small smirk creep onto his lips, "You should not be underestimating me, brother."

"So you did learn."

"You thought I hadn't? When one is offered to learn the skills of ninja, it is obvious what the end result would be. And my skills will definitely surpass yours."

"Do not believe you are the only one with secrets aru." The voice came from above; from none other than the infamous Dragon of the East, sitting on one of the wooden masts supporting the flying fan – like sails.

Kiku stared silently, even in all the battles he had seen Yao fight, he himself had never seen him move so fast, but he wasn't fast enough. In a matter of milliseconds Kiku was clashing swords, a battle of speed and agility between the two captains was born. He slashed at the Chinese man who climbed the tall vertical beams, disappearing from view and appearing again on the highest crow's nest, crouching on the thin ledge of the gallery. Gaining momentum, Kiku dashed up the red sails, defying gravity, the details of the ship blurring at the intense speed. Launching himself, Yao leaped into the sky, the full moon now peaking over the horizon as he met Kiku, against all the odds of gravity. The sleeves and loose fabric of his clothes rippling in the faint wind, helping Yao unconsciously sense the movements of his adversary, predicting the cuts, slices and stabs the Kiku would use to his disposal.

Kiku clenched at the sudden energy in Yao's attacks, the experienced pirate already landing cuts on his arms and legs, the blood seeping into the dark fabric as the gravity finally begun to pull them back. His face chilled at the light touch of silk, sending shivers across his body but his eyes widened at the sudden opportunity and idea. Letting the wind push him down, Kiku waited, he waited for the exact moment where- precisely throwing his kunai, the hard, short knife dug itself into the wood of the main mast, seizing the red fabric with it. Relaunching off the mast, Kiku flung two more kunai to Yao's red sleeves, the short knife trapping the fabric into the wood, effectively trapping Yao. A fourth already in his hand, posed to attack, not to kill; there were more uses to his former sensei, and the fact that there was still a great reward in catching the Dragon of the East was the only reason he didn't slaughter him then and there.

Only surprise marked the eyes of Kiku as Yao viciously tore himself from the lodged Kunai, the torn edges of his oriental clothes dancing like fire as he plummeted back to the deck of the ship. Kiku earnestly following him, ripping through the air to meet up with Yao, slicing open his cheek with a lucky swipe of his katana, kicking him in the stomach, Yao crashed into the deck, the wood breaking at the force of his fall. Wincing at the pain, he felt the trickle of blood at his temple and run down his jawline and onto his neck, his vision doubling at the unwanted dizziness. Splinters forested in the palms of his hands.

Picking himself up from the fall, Yao closed his eye as blood ran over his eyelid, falling into the crevice of the cut cheek and onto his tongue as his licked the iron infested liquid, swallowing the metallic taste. He walked slowly, dusting off the remnants of what was smooth red silk but now resembled more like the flames of a burning ship. Twisting the sword in his hand, he violently turned, bringing the sword down onto Kiku, cutting two equally long, parallel lines into the flesh of his arm. Yelping in unexpected pain, Kiku was astonished at how fast Yao had reacted to the incoming attack of his, but his shock would not last long as his body crashed to the ground, his back feeling pressure and his neck feeling the ticklish tingle of the feathery touch of a blade.

"You have yet to improve aru." Yao sighed, his head throbbing at the sudden rapid movement, a nauseous feeling generating in his stomach, but he managed to keep his voice calm.

Kiku blinked several times. His katana out of his reach, any movement would ensure a sword through his neck, even so, how had he been defeated? His pooling shame, suddenly distracted by the flapping of wings, squinting through the corner of his eyes, the image of a large, pockmarked black and white eagle filled his limited vision, the glossy black eyes and the short, curved, but dangerously sharp beak, but the feature which stood out was the delicately decorated scroll tied to its clawed feet. Keeping the sword at Kiku's neck, Yao carefully undid the scroll, his eyes scanning the Chinese characters written beautifully in black ink. Kiku's eyes furrowed as he watched Yao's face change from the calm collected look to a shocked and almost…afraid, his mouth curving into a frown as he watched Yao inaudibly swear under his breath. He was raised by Wang Yao, and even in the most dire situations, he had not seen the scared face of the Dragon.

Glancing back and forth at Kiku and the note in his hand, Yao was visibly pissed, the timing was inexplicitly aggravating, and the two worst possible situations had to merge. His crew, the message was from his crew. Yao often left them to their own devices, it was only in the rarest occasions that they would send a call for emergency and rarer still that they wouldn't be able to handle it, but the blood stains that smudged into the writing gave a completely different idea. Letting out an annoyed sigh, Yao kicked Kiku hard in the head, hoping it was enough to knock him out, as Yao sheathed his swords. Taking out thin, hairline needles and crouching near Kiku, Yao stuck the needles into the exposed neck, hitting certain nerve points that would render Kiku motionless.

Lightly touching the sensitive and tender flesh that was his bleeding head, he felt the blood starting to clot. Ripping off some of the silk from his clothes, he roughly wrapped his head and the other cuts his body had sustained. His feet not making a sound as he walked calmly towards the wheel of the ship, his hands aching.

"Stop. We haven't finished yet."

Yao froze. The voice belonged to Kiku, but he had…

Turning around to see if he wasn't just hallucinating form his injury. But Kiku was indeed standing, the needles clasped firmly in his hand.

"How? But I hit your nerve points, it's impossible to…" Yao stammered,

"Hmpf, I learnt how to."

"How can you aru?" Yao's eyes stared shocked at the needles.

"There are certain skills one can obtain, and with you as an enemy it was appropriate to learn such techniques."

Kiku suddenly twisted Yao's arm, kicking him onto the floor, kunai trapping him firmly into place, Kiku's shoe digging into the back of Yao's neck. Katana whistling over Yao's back. Desperately, Yao reached for his swords, but Kiku's shoe crashed onto his wrist, stopping the stretching hand from reaching out any further and gaining a flinch from the victim.

"You cannot help me any more Yao, you are simply trapped in the past and the future would only hurt you more. So. Just. Stay. Still."

"Shut up aru. I have to go, what petty form of redemption is this aru." Yao wriggled free from the piercing grip, releasing the kunai in his wake, shuffling to get back to the wheel.

His face shadowed and hidden the only murmured words were that of a raspy "Gomenasai." As Kiku brought the sword down onto the back of his former mentor and brother, the katana slicing the silk as easily as the air around them, cutting through flesh as if it were only the sand on a beach as a child drew on the grains with a stick. The skin split as the silent scream of pain lingered on Yao's face, the pain overriding his senses, his back feeling like it was cut in half, the blood oozing through the flaking fabric. Finally the sword left his flesh, the end twisting through the small of his back**.** He could feel the cold air mixing with his blood and raw flesh, kneeling on the deck, his hand clutching at his shoulders in a feeble attempt to ease the searing fire on his back. His breath came out in hoarse pants, his eyes wet with tears, gravity sinking them onto the deck.

Calming as much as he could with his back soaked in blood and fire burning off his senses, Yao asked a single, defeated "Why?"

Kiku watched him, he watched as Yao's eyes wavered in the dizziness of the blood loss and the way his body sunk towards the deck, becoming weaker as the energy literally poured out of him. Answering Yao's question only with dejected silence, he walked away, the echoes of his footsteps seeming louder than any thunderstorm, the slow breathing of the wounded person behind him howled like the wind, every sound was amplified, every emotion multiplying and as much as he wanted his feelings to disappear, Kiku's eyes let the tears come forth as he furiously tried to wipe them away, only unlocking more as he walked away.

**From the fallen Dragon of the East.**

_**From his brother.**_

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><p><em><strong>AN:**_i might change the title after this chapter because the story now involves more countries, but im still working on that...any suggestions?

and i must always thank my beta for dealing with me~ danke~

**Disclaimer: **these characters do not belong to me...k?


	4. Flight of the Black Eagle

The shackles dangled around his thin wrists, the heavy metal dragging his hands above his head, the iron cannonballs burdening his ankles, constraining his movement. The pirate swore, he had never expected the pathetic admiral to employ a privateer, and to employ the only privateer that knew his weaknesses. What was even worse, this particular privateer was a _girl_. There was no way anyone could confine the awesome Black Eagle. Three days, it had been three days without beer…or food but starvation he could handle, beer shortage, not so much.

"Once I get out of here, he is so going to get it. That arschloch." He chuckled darkly, the shackles jingling at the shaking motion, his head resting on the damp, cold, slate-grey stones that enclosed him. The small, square window leaden with bars were teasing him, laughing at this prisoned form. He was slumped on the floor with his hands chained above his head and chains around his ankles. Damn it. He was getting pins and needles. His pale white hair collapsed over his head, clasped with dirt and thinning in the damp air. Oh how he was going to destroy those bars. He had put him in here on purpose. Why did that pansy think he was weak? Thinking that awesome him wasn't worth at least a windowless cell; which would have made his escape more awesome. Not that he could get any more awesome.

Sighing, he slumped back to the wall, the water sinking into his back. "But why…?" Examining the cell around him for what felt like the millionth time, he stared at the rotting wooden door, the bricks that fenced in the square room, the drains where rust infested water trickled into oblivion and the black lead shackles and chains that held him. However, there was no doubt they had held the skeletons of people, pirates before him. He watched exhausted at the rats that peeped out from the crevices in the stone, chewing on the bones in between their tainted paws, their putrid yellow teeth scratching the white that was probably someone's finger bone. Disgusting. But he was sure that being chewed on by rats wasn't going to be his fate, someone of his calibre would be hanged with their decaying body hung up to scare away bold pirates, who would ignore his hollow laughing eyes. Or maybe they would sell his head to one of his many enemies, where he would watch forever on their fireplace at their squandered lives and futile reactions to the pimples that they called problems. Or hopefully he would watch them get murdered in a good raid or a robbery gone wrong.

Laughing in the many ways he could imagine his own death, Gilbert preferred only one way that his death could come and that was in the thrill and climax of battle, of a good swordfight and maybe of a punctured heart.

As the water dripped, ever in the same rhythm without ever any change, it was quietly accompanied by the soft sound of footsteps. Gilbert smiled; he knew the sound of those footsteps, delicate but definitely not gentle or weak. He smirked as they got louder, eventually coming to a stop at the door that separated him and the pirate that captured him. The sound of keys rung loudly in his ears, and the rough click of the door unlocking revealed the pirate in all her glory. Her long brown hair flowing around her face was accented by her sharp bottle green eyes which stared directly at Gilbert's unnatural red ones. Her uniform shaped her body in a way that boasted her strength and her feminism and her heels boosted her superiority. But even in her heels, if he stood up he would still be taller than her.

"Haven't got your precious frying pan?"

"Shut up. I don't need a frying pan to defeat you."

"So what calls her royal highness," Gilbert's voice was full of sarcasm, "to my humble prison cell?"

"Your last meal." Elizabeta sneered at Gilbert's face, the façade of overconfidence falling in the smallest of fractions.

"But with my arms shackled so, I'm afraid the awesome me can't eat." His face mocking false pity, but then he sneered, "Unless you want to feed me?'

Elizabeta's eye twitched but sarcastically held up the keys, "You're lucky Roderich pities you."

Gilbert's eyebrows furrowed at the words, "Then I'd rather not eat, just give me a good barrel of quality German beer." Elizabeta sighed, "You drunkard."

She walked towards the barred window, her nose scrunching at the sheer scent of the room, "You're not planning to die are you?"

"The awesome me die? Never!"

"It's going to be different this time you know, you aren't going to escape. I know you did in Budapest and in Paris, hell you escaped in Moscow."

"Heh, mein gott I remember that, now that was a blast, the look on his face." Gilbert beamed, "Personally, I don't think Paris counts but Budapest…"

"You're not going to survive! Stop treating it like it's a joke already, I only came because I'm certain tonight will be your last."

"You're going to miss me, aren't you?"

"Of course not, you've been a thorn in my side since we were children."

Gilbert's voice turned serious, his red eyes glaring, "Don't expect me to give up, we will meet again and trust me, it's going to be on the high seas, whether you like it or not."

"Don't you ever get tired to going against the inevitable?" Elizabeta wearily asked.

"Get tired of being awesome? How could you even ask such a question." His eyes on Elizabeta as she glanced despondently at him "Anyway if you are so convinced that I will finally take my last breath why don't you give me a goodbye kiss and make it good."

Taken aback at the preposterous condition she stalked over and proceeded to punch the living daylights out of the unfortunate pirate. Patting her hands after she considered her beating enough, leaving him slumped with a black eye, his arms sagged by his sides and a plate of soft bread complemented by a rusted mug of beer. Blinking his injured eyes open and wiping away the tears at the corners of his eyes he smiled, "That's the Elizabeta I know."

Smirking at the beer and the bread, Gilbert stuffed the entire loaf into his mouth, chewing the dry flesh and feeling the lumpy flour sink through his throat, gripping onto the dehydrated gullet before passing it into his empty stomach, where it sat, lonely. Peering at the golden liquid that sat, swishing in the mug, he took a small sip, tasting the bitter aftertaste, the slight fizzing resting on his tongue before gulping down the rest of the contents, his head whipping back to give access to the rest of the beer. "Still not German." He critiqued, wiping away the drops that had escaped his mouth, the beer gushing down to meet the remnants of the bread. His stomach at least, was not completely empty, but still gurgling for more. His face though, was another story. Set upon the pale skin, his eyes were alight in crimson red and a feral grin plastered on his face, beer running through his veins, "Elizabeta, you really wanted me to escape, didn't you?"

Stretching out with his feet still encased in the iron shackles, Gilbert snatched at the skeleton of an unfortunate prisoner, settling for an unnaturally sharpened bone around the length of his finger. He poked the sharpened edge into the keyhole of the iron cuff, the bone chinking to the edges of the hole. He desperately tried to unlock the manacles, twisting the makeshift lock pick into the hole, the decaying lock pick cracking at the force, splitting in half, the uneven jagged edges pointing out to the missing bone. Annoyed Gilbert grabbed another bone, shoved it into the keyhole, flicking it around and waited eagerly for the resounding click.

Sighing indignantly, Gilbert threw the unsuccessful bone into the steadily growing pile, the pile of sharp joints making the corner of the jail look like a small graveyard. Pushing his hair back in frustration, he looked dejectedly at the shackles imprisoning his feet, clasped around his ankles.

"Gott verdammt." Cocking his head and narrowing his eyes, Gilbert handled the chains connecting the anklets to the iron ball weighing him down, pulling softly at the metal links. "If only I had my gun. But I guess it could be worse." Knotting the chains around his hand, Gilbert pulled roughly, dismantling the chains from his ankle, destroying the bounds that held him. "That pansy can't even afford good quality chains." He sneered, looking at the grey, chipped remains that were the chains holding him in place, pulling the other one free before getting up in the first time in three days. He heard his spine crack as he stretched backwards, electricity running up his leg as the blood rushed through the unused muscles. Jogging on the spot to warm up his probably dead legs, Gilbert walked to the barred window, leaning on the small width between the bars and the walls, a small yellow speck in the distance.

Grinning awesomely, Gilbert moved away from the bars, the wisps of twilight moving from the horizon, the sea sparkling in the distance, the silent shadows of a ship wavering on the line of visibility and disappearance. He moved out of the limited light just as a yellow cannonball of feathers shot throw the iron poles, flapping frivolously to keep afloat.

"Gilbird!" Gilbert rushed to the yellow bird, rubbing his cheek on the soft feathers, delicately holding the small bird in his hands, soft cheeps erupting musically from the petite body. "I've missed you so much!" Gilbird chirped brightly, placing the small scroll into Gilbert's hands, before settling into his silvery hair. Unfolding the scroll, Gilbert scanned through the black inked words, smiling before slipping the small note into the pocket of his coat. He picked up the discarded hat in the corner of the room, brushing off the feathers and the tinted leather. "Gilbird." He warned as he motioned the hat towards his head, waiting for the familiar weight to disappear before fitting the hat warmly on his head, the yellow bird landing on the dark navy hat, complementing the gold decorations.

Looking at the window once more, Gilbert gazed at the moon, now swimming in the clouds, peering from its high throne in the dusky azure skies. "I'm afraid the awesome me can't bless you with my presence any longer, Roderich." And with that Gilbert, strutted to the door, turning to a slim angle, he kicked out, the door crumbling at his feet, rotten splinters raining to the ground, thin-coated in damp water and now the wooden remains of his imprisonment.

Walking out of the room, Gilbert found himself staring out, the blowing embers of a coastal town below him, the horizon and the glinting sea in his sight. So they had actually held him in the tower. Whistling at the amazing view from the strategically placed prison, Gilbert continued walking, hands digging into his pockets, acting completely unaware of the guards poising to strike behind him.

Gilbert sighed. Ducking while the spear rushed above his head, jumping at the sudden sweep at his ankles, his hands still fumbled with the inside folds of his coat. Using the friction of the white stone walls, he jumped, kicking in mid-air at the guards, knocking them out. About to advance on to the stone bridge, Gilbert stopped himself, revolving towards the guards. Kneeling at their unconscious bodies, his eyes searched, until he found the coin purses tied on their belts, accompanied by plain but good quality daggers, "Free stuff!" Unbuckling the belts, Gilbert decided to take the whole package, it was good leather anyway.

Strutting onto the regally constructed bridge, Gilbert hummed, enjoying the sight, the heels of his boots clicking and his coat blowing in the wind. But his eyes flickered as he heard wincing murmurs behind him, cursing "Oi! Where you going pirate!"

"Scheiße."

Gilbert faced the guards, pointing backwards at the sea. They sniggered, "Well you're not going anywhere!" Their badly spoken threat only reasonable under the thundering call of a horn, rung out to the rest of the small palace, followed by a tense silence, then the gathering calls of men and the metal. The tower guards laughed towards the organising guards, eyes away from the now running Prussian as he scampered into the main building. "Hahaha…where did he go?!"

Gilbert stumbled into the majestically decorated room, the windows letting in the shadows as he walked on the embodied carpets, navigating the uninhabited hallways. Hiding in his enemy's stronghold, creeping around the suits of armour and tapestries, Gilbert breathed stifling, barely letting the air through his throat, sweat accumulating on his forehead. Seeing a flash of white in the corner of his eye, he headed towards the opening, feeling the rush of wind when he stepped out onto a tiled veranda looking over the candle lights of windows.

"Welcome, you rogue."

"Ahh, a pleasure to grace you with my awesomeness, Roderich." Gilbert smirked, his back to the man.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be rotting in that tower?"

"Got bored," came his cool response. "By the way, you need to spend more money on locks, guards and privateers. You're lacking in quality, well not really on the privateer part but yeah." Gilbert faced his nemesis, a grin plastered on his face but his eyes burning in icy flames. His red eyes duelling with refined violet ones behind thin glasses, set on a pale face outlined by short, wavy, brown hair, a single kink curling vertically, identifying itself from the waves of brown locks. But the admiral wasn't alone, adjoining the well-defined noble was an entire platoon of guards, all encased in fancy coats and buttons. They brandished their swords greedily; their stoic faces silent as they forced Gilbert back against the balcony, his back feeling the smooth stones. "Come on, I'm sure you're better than this. Remember, I'm worth more alive than dead." The Prussian sang.

"Counting your sheer annoyingness, I doubt you'd die from such a fall, but I guess you're also expendable." Gilberts face sunk at the word expendable, but the arrogant smile returned, "If I'm so expendable, you won't mind if I do _this_." Gilbert jumped on the balcony, balancing on the edge of the veranda and the fall to solid ground.

"You don't have the guts." The Austrian pushed his glasses back, his eyes mocking the pirate, standing on the edge of life and death.

"Do I?" the Prussian lifted his foot, setting it behind the balcony, into mid-air.

Roderich watched, seeing something unusual in the Prussian's eyes, "Wait!"

"Goodbye, Mr Edelstein." Gilbert stepped back, letting the air rush, feeling himself fall to gravity.

Gilbert fell, a belt in his hands, "…2…1" His hand flew to the quivering tail of the belt, the rush of free-fall, stopping abruptly, head ringing with the stop. His hands clenched on the leather belt, the leather clinching on the partial cord lines of lanterns, the Prussian looking at the bobbing of the orange lights. Soon the pull of the ground returned, pushing him slowly down the lines of cords, getting faster at the second. "Hang on, Gilbird!" And the Prussian laughed, he screamed in the wind as he rushed back down, the wind spelling his freedom and the frazzled cries of the man he left behind. Letting go of the temporary flying fox, he landed on the fabric roof of an unfortunate shop, picking up some of the rings being shown, fancying a silver ring, the black jewel winking at him. Emptying the store front of jewels into his pocket, Gilbert ran.

"Get him! No matter what, capture that pirate!" Roderich ordered, "And someone fetch Miss Hedervary! Now!"

"Don't worry, Roderich, I'm here." Elizabeta stepped out, her voice came and a frying pan in her hands, "I've got him." She spied the Prussian running, his laughing face visibly obvious, frustrating her beyond where that fool wanted to go, taking aim; the Hungarian flung her frying pan into the air.

Gilbert hooted, running, he knew they couldn't capture him. Feeling odd, Gilbert felt something was heading towards him, something hard and painful.

He collapsed. The frying pan sticking on his head at a weird angle.

Blinking away the stars popping in front of him, his head throbbed, feeling to minimise the pain, his hands felt the hard metal of a handle, the handle of a frying pan, "Oh Elizabeta."

Grumbling up, he still ran, albeit a bit slower, his vision swaying at the sudden hit.

"Why did you just throw your frying pan?" An Austrian man asked, looking from far away at the collapsed Prussian.

"Don't worry it was just a spare."

"But he's getting up."

"Oh shoot, it was the wrong one." But Elizabeta smiled, her voice not mirroring her expressions,

"How many do you have?"

Elizabeta turned to the Austrian her smile disturbing him slightly.

The Prussian turned to the balcony, where he could still see the figures of Roderich and Elizabeta. He brought the frying pan to his face, kissing the cool metal, predicting her face as he reached the port. Reaching the majestic ship moored on the coast, waiting for his return, he felt the tough rope caress his hands as he was hoisted back on board his ship.

"THE AWESOME ME HAS RETURNED ARSCHLOCHS!"

His shout of victory was answered by hearty and rough cheers, his crew erupted in shouts, both in English and rough German. But they stopped at the sounds of a light chinking, "Nein, you didn't!" as the captain spoke the words, glasses of quality brewed German beer were smacked onto a barrel, the Prussian already high without the influence of alcohol.

"But." Abruptly silence filled the deck.

"Let's get onto the high seas before we ruin the coast with our awesomeness, I've been missing the smell of salt and beer!" Cheers once again filled the ship, their captain hoisting a large cup of beer in his hand and their pirate flag burning the sky with its black tongues. Like the feathers of a Prussian Black Eagle.

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><p>AN: Please read & review~~~


	5. The Greatest Trio Ever Known

A tanned hand ruffled wavy locks of brown hair, another wrapped around a heavy glass of dark amber alcohol, dunking the remains of the liquid into his throat. A sigh wavered in the air as the cool temperature gushed into the inner folds of his stomach, his head in the clouds. His sunlit olive green eyes smiling into the air, he was a person who was told of his cheerful disposition, well he guessed they'd never seen him when he was pillaging the British coasts, but honestly he was a cheerful person…most of the time. Sighing contently, he leaned lethargically on the bar, his hair becoming even messier as he scratched it slowly, not really to itch anywhere but to give his hands something to do. Tapping his low heeled shoes slowly on the wood, following the soft hum of coastal music, he was extremely lucky, he could not help but smile at the fortune he had received. Here he was, on a coastal village in France, the first to arrive of a predetermined meeting, a meeting between the best of bad friends, the meeting of the illustrious, prevailing and utterly awesome Bad Touch Trio.

On the table was a crumbled and obviously abused piece of paper, yellowing and creases cutting ledges into the black ink, the edges torn and fumbling. The ink danced on the mountains of the paper, announcing the coasts and countries that lined the world, neat letters naming seas and oceans. Placing the alcohol back onto the bar, Antonio pulled out a dagger concealed in the folds of his light, thin shirt, it was early summer in Europe in the moment, the weather had just started to warm, and the heat of the sun was constantly followed by a content breeze just caressing skin, making the warmth feel comfortable and the air feel euphoric. Tracing the thin dagger overs the edges of the countries, over the Mediterranean, around Italy, up the coast of Portugal, twisting and sliding the knife, controlling it with only his thumb and forefinger, outlining France, then towards England where he stopped. His head looking sideways at the sparkle of the knife, his ear hugging the wood, hearing expanding as he heard hollow sounds reflected by the cool timber, he held the blade just above the small island, a small island with a lot of power, Antonio mused, how had a single island gained so much in such a short span of time. In a single moment of pent up anger and foreboding Antonio slammed the dagger into the map, piercing into the wood, embedding itself halfway in the rich drunk red colour. The bartender looked irritated at the motion but made no action to stop the pirate from doing anything, it seemed that a lot of people had mistreated the wood before and there was no purpose in stopping the Spaniard. It was later afternoon so the bar was quite empty except for a few people drinking lazily, it was usually after the sun had set that the villages truly came to life, where sailors would come in for the night, drinking their minds out as they swamped themselves in vigour and hearty songs, returning to whatever they had to do in the morning, maybe with a slight headache or a straight out hangover. It didn't really matter.

His eyes widening slightly, Antonio's constant smile grew even larger. In the distant folds of air he could hear the partial but sharp footsteps of a familiar, dignified gait, the quick, crisp sounds of heels that his ears were accustomed to. The muffled giggles of girls and the gracious replies that were given, and as the footsteps echoed even closer, Antonio could hear the swish of what he knew was an embellished lace coat, probably matching his heels as well. The music stopped as the players put down their instruments to greet the visitor, he was a welcome and familiar face in this village and in fact most of France, and that particular fame was doing nothing to his ego. The already partially open door was cracked open to a full, letting in the full thrash of the sun, the wooden whistling on the stone floors, the sound of the steps pressing into his back.

"Ah! Bonjour Antonio! It has been a while, non." The voice spoke with a distinct French accent, his words expressive and flamboyant. The Spaniard chuckled, "Too long, mi amigo." Turning around to face his long-time friend and occasionally ally. His olive eyes taking in the sight of the pale, sky blue coat that was draped casually around the Frenchman, detailed with lace and gold threads, the cuff of his sleeves sprouted thin white lace and the buttons that were hanging forgotten were shining in the catches of sunlight. Antonio smirked, "No complaints or anything but isn't wearing that coat a bit too attention seeking, do you want to get attacked again."

"That was a long time ago, and isn't it an occasion for old friends to meet again."

"The last time we met, you were trying skewer me with that sword you call a weapon." Antonio replied dryly, "Oui, I remember but there were good benefits out of that situation, right."

"You fled after you though the English were coming." Antonio glanced with narrow eyes, "Oh that time."

"And they weren't, they didn't even notice the battle." The Spanish pirate drunk the contents of the new mug of alcohol on the table, the French pirate shrugged, "It would have become a bad situation if they were English Pirates."

"And by English pirates you mean the English Devil, si."

"I, Francis Bonnefoy, am not afraid of that vulgar, sea vulture who has hideous eyebrows and sails the sea half drunk." Francis stated with pride and venom, taking a seat next to his fellow pirate. "But you still run away when you see any sign of an English flag or his jolly roger." Francis sighed, "It is not running away, it is tactical retreat, my gunpowder was already depleted after fighting you."

"Say that all you want, it's not going to change the fact that you ran away." Antonio stated flatly, his olive green eyes staring straight into the cerulean blue of Francis's, "Hey, Francis, has your hair grown longer?" Antonio scanned the wavy, shoulder length hair that encompassed Francis's face, the stands of hair that escaped the majority of glossy blonde hair loosely captured in a dark blue ribbon. "Non, I don't think so, but I haven't cut it in a while, maybe I'll leave it longer than usual, long hair seems to work for you Antonio." Francis looked at the brunette's hair sitting content on his shoulder.

"Hmm, I guess." But Francis's attention had been diverted to the dagger, poised in the wood of the table, "Frustrated?" Francis poked at the handle of the knife, looking amused at where it had penetrated the paper. Antonio only glared at Francis; it was not a place he was fond of, where really none of them were fond of.

They heard the footsteps, the overly confident strides, the bang of the door colliding with the wall as it was nearly torn off its hinges as final member of their trio arrived. "Now! The Awesome has arrived!" His hands proudly on his hips and the sun behind his back, shining through his silvery hair, his crimson eyes gleaming viciously, his leathery black coat sitting dramatically on his body, "You're alive?" Francis and Antonio asked, looking up from their alcohol. "Congratulations, I never thought you'd survive Elizabeta…how did you survive that?" The Spaniard asked genuinely curious, "We thought you'd never return, mon ami."

"The Awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt does not die." The Prussian joined the rest of the trio at the table, ordering for a large mug of beer. Francis smiled, "But he does get captured, and by a girl, no less." Gilbert glared, unamused at the offending Frenchman, "Well you're one to talk, if I recall, you were beaten half to death by that monster you call a girl, I swear there's something behind that women." Eager to change the subject from his defeats Francis turned to Antonio, taking an occasional sip from his wine, "So I heard you were defeated and captured by Kirkland. How'd you escape, I want to know every detail."

"So you can make sure what to do when you're inevitably captured and tortured through the insides of your throat."

"For the lack of a better example- no, so that I know his weaknesses." Gilbert drank heavily from the cup, "Gott, you have no idea how annoying it is to not have any beer, and Francis haven't you battled against him, how many times now, and you've defea- wait ran away from him on several occasions, shouldn't you know his weaknesses by now." Francis slumped.

"What is with you and insisting I run away from everything, I have won plenty of fights."

"Only when your fashion is concerned."

"But concerning the knife-in-the-table-where-England-is-on-the-map, I assume we're going to do something and you needed my awesome influence."

"In similar context, si." Antonio smiled hauntingly, his eyes darkening and his smirk thin. "So what are we going to do to that vile Brit?" Francis asked enthusiastically, eyes sparkling at the prospect of defeating his formidable enemy, "That person has been ruling over the seas too long, he has too much power. It doesn't help that he's decided to join on the sides of British Empire, I know we all help our countries when they pay us enough but now he has too much freedom, he no longer needs to run away from his greatest enemy." Spain begun, "But he had a lot of enemies, you will help me right?"

Gilbert sighed, shaking out the last few drops of beer and ordering for more, "I know you two have every reason of revenge to destroy the English Devil but what's the point of me helping you? I've managed not to get too tangled in his business for once and you expect me to throw it all away." Francis and Antonio looked stunned; their mouths wide open in shock, it was Gilbert talking about not dealing with unnecessary battle, The Black Eagle, the pirate famous for destroying all his foes even if he was in the disadvantage, was wondering if he should not go into a fight. "Elizabeta must have hit you hard, is your head okay, amigo?"

"This is a chance to finally get rid of Kirkland and you don't want to fight? Without him, we could rule the seas again." Francis pleaded,

"Yeah and how did that turn out?"

They were all silent…they're past and greatest defeat at the hands of the English alliance strong in their minds. "Revenge, Gilbert! More beer than you could wish for and there are rumours of an alliance between Edelstein and Kirkland."

"It will take more than money to get Kirkland on Edelstein's side and the only reason for them to join sides is you Francis." Gilbert said plainly, the Frenchman feeling sheepish at the pointed remark, "So what if I've got a few enemies, I can actually hold my own against them, you know."

"Most of the time."

"But seriously Gilbert, we'll win."

"What's in it for me?" The Prussian asked, his shoes sitting comfortable crossed on the table.

"Everything, we'll each get a third of the plunder and rewards." Francis stated, his voice confident and solid, "As if." Gilbert scowled skeptically "We're pirates remember, you will probably run of with forty percent of the loot, while Antonio and I actually fight that devil then you get caught, he targets you, Antonio slips behind and then he runs off."

"Si, that is probably what will happen, except then you would block me, get Francis to attack in his battle rage then go off yourself with nearly everything." Antonio said bluntly, they all looked at each other in silence, fairly used to backstabbing, "But then its Kirkland's stuff." Francis broke the contemplating silence. Gilbert suddenly cackled loudly, Antonio and Francis glanced quietly at each other, what had caused the sudden outburst, "You never really had to convince me of anything, I was born for the thrill of battle, I wouldn't miss out on such an opportunity. Scheiße, you seriously thought I wasn't going to sail out and skewer some Englishman with my awesomeness, I must really be an awesome actor." Francis and Antonio sighed in relief, smiling but their eyes annoyed at being played so easily. "Mon Dieu Gilbert, what was all that for then."

"Well, it has been a while since, we've seen each other, times can change quickly and the fact that you're so gullible but I do guess I am awesome." Gilbert jeered, "Oh yeah, I forgot to ask you earlier but weren't you captured by Kirkland not so long ago, do you need a ship?" the brunette froze, his eyes baring holes into the table, "Ah, yes I was unfortunate enough to get caught, luckily he does not care too much for what his prisoners are plotting so I managed to escape and I got to a rendezvous on the coast of Spain with some allies and surviving members of my crew and don't worry, we have a ship. Quite a beauty as well, fast as the wind, streamline, I think she's definitely one of the best out there." Francis looked impressed, "You did all that in a short amount of time but no matter which ship you take, my ship will always be better."

"Nein, mine is obviously the most awesome."

"But besides arguing which of us are the most awesome or who has the better ship what are we going to do finally get rid of his most sincere Captain Arthur Kirkland?" Captain Bonnefoy asked, his voice laced with articulate spite. "That is most simple, we have the tools, all we need is to target his weakness."

"He has no fucking weakness." Gilbert indicated plainly, Antonio smirked ominously, his olive green eyes darkening, "Everyone has a weakness, and I know his." Francis leered, "You surprise me sometimes, Antonio and who will take care of his most hideous eyebrows after you defeat him, I don't suppose you're going to let him die without a bit of…fun."

"You read my mind, I know we don't share at the best of times but I was thinking we could make an exception in this condition, you agree."

"I wouldn't have said the words better myself."

Gilbert cackled into the air, "Finally, we'll send the English Devil back to the pits of hell."

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><p>AN: I give you~ The Bad Touch Trio~

I hope this chapter is ok, since it was self edited...i sincerely apologies if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes because i have no sense of either...and please read and review~


	6. The Fallen Dragon and a Smiling Devil

**A/N: Self edited once again so i apologize if anything is wrong...and the terribly long update but if its any consolation i do have the future chapters written...**

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><p>Water sulked onto the dead, grey beaches, its polluted, musky green hue glittered with the parched yellow lights that cracked though the wooden planks that formed the bridges that were decaying from the wet sea air. The air stunk of drunkards and the drying spew of vomit, the mass of bodies that clustered in the taverns and bars that clambered on the streets of the tarnished sea port. Most people wore torn robes of oriental influence but the unique style of the Western world had weaved itself in the Asian city. Alone among the people who reeked of days spent huddled in the grimy corners of the buildings that were so near to each other that in the sullied confusion of everything it was not possible to tell where one building started and where one ended, stood a single person. Used to the chaos that was the Asian port, he leaned back on the walls, watching just above the usual calamity, his black leather hat concealing his features in shadow, tattered black coat obscuring him from the view of most people. His eyes analysed the squashed roads, sharp and unwitting not unlike an animal just waiting to swoop down on its target, claws already sharpened and indeed the glint of his sword was barely visible among the black.<p>

Another man slipped in between the folds of people like a snake, disappearing easily, his head covered in a shawl, his black cloak acting as a second shadow, some of his oriental shirt peeking out from the blackness but not outstanding in the city. He ducked under the low wooden roofs of the market stalls, talking to some merchants in rapid speech, hands exchanging secrets packets at the same time, a curt nod signalling the end of a conversation that never happened. Looking around suspiciously, under the circumstance of such a corrupted city, caution was a practiced habit. Eyes glazing over the barely darker shadow that leaned on the wall, on the opposite side of the wide brightly lit and crowded street, narrowing before quickening his pace, keen to disappear.

Taking his cue, he moved away from the wall, calmly walking in the shadows, his mouth curving into a crooked smirk as he followed intently but not obviously, not to any average person anyway. Snakes were prey of hawks after all. Hands buried in his pockets, he was calm, too calm as he walked not particularly fast but enough to keep a tail on the man who was increasing his speed, his target unsurprisingly adept at manoeuvring the crowd. He himself preferred to stay in the dark shadows, where he could watch over the scene with observing eyes. Fortunately, he had been studying the place for a while and knew exactly where the other man was going. Sighing, he considered the form of the man, he was agile, most likely, and he walked with practiced ease which probably meant a decent education or a standard enough lifestyle. But his steps were hesitant, did he have an injury? Considering that then it'd have to be a serious injury since the rest of his bodily seemed to lag slightly. And knowing this person to be extremely proud and someone to hate showing any weakness at all, it must've been very taxing. Which only made his job easier.

He clutched at his cloak, his knuckles turning pale at the strength. Why was he here? He didn't need anyone else to intrude on his problems. He was cornered, the only way to lose his pursuer was to outmanoeuvre him in the crowded city but judging by the way he managed to continue without uncertainty, it only meant worse for him, and the cloak was doing nothing, he could feel the eyes boring into his head, watching his every move. Concluding the crowded streets would not end up being advantageous for him, he ventured into the alleys, his cloak hiding him in the darkness of the walls, the drip-drop of contaminated sewer water echoing. He closed his eyes for a moment to sense his surroundings and the people who were lurking there. But luckily one in particular hadn't arrived. But the arrival was inevitable. He looked up, wondering if he should jump, but his body was still sore, it took a long time for his injuries to heal, and the blood loss had already weakened him more than he wanted to show. He still had the bandages wrapped around his body. He glanced around again, no, down was a better option, and hopefully he could just disappear.

There were a lot of sewer pipes, a lot of them could well contain several people; now which one could suit his position the best? He did not have the option for extensive research, the sneaky bastard was trailing him and it would be a few minutes at the best before his footsteps echoed across the corner. Opting for a well hidden, but not too shady pipe, he stood on the rusted metals edge. He had to stay silent, if he made any sound, he would be as good as dead, not that he wasn't a few weeks ago. Crouching down, he let his palms feel the rough, cold metal; this would hurt his back. Gritting his teeth, he prepared himself for the incoming pain and it didn't disappoint. He landed on the side of the pipe, sliding down to decrease the collateral noise. He felt nauseous, his back burning, the skin stretching unbearably; he could feel some of the newly grown skin tear. But the pain was worth it, his movement not making a single tremor, successfully landing in the water without any murmur or whisper. All he had to do now was wait.

Of course, he had run, before he would have fought, so why did he run this time? Unless someone had already dethroned him, of course he wanted the pleasure of doing that first but someone seemed to have beaten him to it but humiliating him could be as satisfying. "You go from owning fleets, to hiding in sewer pipes, oh how the mighty have fallen."

Silence whispered at him.

"Not reacting, but I came all the way from England to meet you, though I did expect to meet your sword, but your shivering form will do just as fine."

Arthur pulled at the cloak, dragging him away from the sewer pipe and shoving him into the wall, his grip restricting the man from moving too much, but he could wriggle, not that he let the Englishman have to pleasure of seeing him squirm, he would never fall that far. With the rough movement, the cowl fell off, revealing the defiant and utterly electric caramel eyes that glared into the smug green ones. "I found you, Yao Wang, Dragon of the East. Who knew dragons liked to hide in pipes?"

Yao only glared, if he spoke, he could reveal his weakness and the sheer pain from the pressure on his raw back, the risk wasn't worth it.

"You're hiding something." Arthur jeered, "What is it?" He asked mockingly, voice laced with fake innocence, like a curious child. Yao winced, how convenient, he could feel the increase in pain as he felt something sharp jut into his back, exactly in the centre of his injury, if it bled, who knew what would happen. Arthur saw the flicker of pain over the Asian's features, he had faced the Chinese pirate before and he rarely ever expressed any notation of pain, to even cause a flicker, it would have to be a very serious injury, experimenting Arthur pushed Yao even harder into the wall, the result was immediate, even if it was only for a second, the slight widening of the eyes then suddenly the eyelids were being squeezed shut. So that was why he wasn't talking, he was afraid his voice would show his weaknesses. "You're too proud Yao; just accept your defeat for once." Suddenly spinning the shivering pirate around and forcing his face too the wall, Arthur ripped off the cloak, followed by the silk shirt, his hands pinning the Chinese man to the wall, the plain crimson discarded on the dirty floor. Revealing Yao's toned chest, covered in bandages, the centre of his back moistened with fresh blood, he let the Asian go, releasing the pressure he had kept on his back, "Stabbed in the back, how ironic, who did it?"

Yao glared but he glanced away quickly, "…None of your business."

"It was Kiku wasn't it." Arthur smirked at the twitch when the name was mentioned, "So it was."

"Like I said, none of your business." Yao picked up the shirt and the cloak, slipping both back on quietly, "Now I will go, I'm pretty sure I'm no use to you now." Yao moved away, walking away quietly, his feet not making a whisper of a sound, his stop silent as he heard the click, the gun aimed at his head, "Oh, I don't know about that, you still hold quite a ransom, you know."

"Like you need any more gold." Yao spat out.

"You could work for me." Kirkland sneered, his voice laced in arrogance.

"What would prompt me to do so?"

"I will kill you."

Yao smiled, "Then kill me. It's not like anything matters anymore."

Arthur frowned, the words playing over in his head, "You don't want to die, yet you wouldn't care if this bullet would happen to split your head. But you have things I don't have, and you will give them to me."

"Me, a pitiful beggar, having something the English Devil wants, what in the world could that be?" Yao's voice was dripping with spite and menace.

"Knowledge. You have destroyed the seas longer than I have, and you want the chance to have revenge, no?" Arthur asked, his desperation hidden by smug overtones.

"I am interested in what you'll do aru. But you have nothing that I want."

"I have your life, and what remains of your crew."

Yao froze, "You were Kiku's accomplice." The Chinese man chuckled darkly, amused at his own demise, "He could have not caused all that damage himself…why am I not surprised."

Arthur lowered the gun, "Well, there is a particular survivor you might be interested in, a young boy I think, I'd hate to see what'd happen to him if someone wasn't there to protect him, after all he is quite cute, though he seems to be very stoic."

Yao looked back, his expressions unreadable, he mouthed something.

"What I couldn't hear," but by the cocky tone of his voice, Yao could tell he heard perfectly fine, "I said, I'll come…"

"Very well then."

Yao didn't move, he stood there, unvoiced thoughts mumbling in his head, his pride refusing him to walk. Arthur could practically hear the conflicts in the Chinese man's mind, the choice between his dignity or more like the secret of the fact that the Dragon had fallen. No one had actually seen that Wang Yao had virtually disappeared off the face of the earth, except Arthur and other selected people, including the Japanese man that had cause his demise. And the choice of saving a few lives, but Yao did seem to have a twisted form of loyalty, if it were possible for a pirate to have loyalty.

"So? Are you coming or not, or am I going have to drug you. Opium has been very popular lately, you know."

"I know very well the effects of opium; unfortunately I do not find it to my fancy." Yao spat.

"Terrible drug, but very good for business, even you can't deny that."

"Tsk. But yes it was a very influential market." Yao admitted, he sighed, his feet finally moving, grudgingly walking towards the English pirate. "You must be desperate, you haven't killed me. I thought my death would make you even more famous, not that you need the addition to your ego."

"You must be very weak not to be able to fight back or we'd be crossing swords now."

"You'd be dead now, if I wasn't injured." Yao stated emotionlessly.

"And we would not be having a civil conversation, but can you survive on my ship." Arthur scoffed.

"Arthur, you do not understand how much I want to shoot you at the moment aru."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I have a good idea, but when we get onto my ship-"

"What is my status going to be? Prisoner?" Yao asked bluntly, his feet now willingly walking back towards the ports.

"You will be my prisoner, but it depends on what I feel like whether you'll be kept in the prison or not, but I don't trust you. You're too conniving for your own good and I wouldn't be surprised if the ship burned down." Yao smiled at the reference; he did have quite a reputation. There was a situation where he had willingly gone into an enemy's ship as a prisoner, not that anyone knew it at the time, but in the morning all that remained of the ship was the emptiness of plunder and the burnt ashes of mouldy wood. "I would prefer to keep you under my eye, I know what you capable of, even when injured."

Yao scoffed, they had reached the outer ports of the city, and a single ship was moored in the dark water. It stood different from the other ships; it seemed to glow with cocky pride but well-deserved reputation. Her sails were down but the ghostly white still danced eerily in the night. It was quiet, dreaming voiceless on the sea, like a hallucination, one expected it to disappear in a blink of an eye. A spectre in the fogless noise, but to Yao it only promised the sinking dread and the ever present nervous sweat of a haunting phantom. Arthur had presented himself as a gentleman, quite civil in his own right but tides change quickly and so do people. Yao was sure that once he set foot on that ship, his soul would be sold to the devil; it was ironic due to the name that people whispered of Captain Arthur Kirkland, the English Devil.

"Well, any last wishes, Dragon?"

"You're too smug for your own good; soon that power will catch up to you aru."

"Well, I don't expect anything to pop up anytime soon, and if it will, it will only make me stronger." Arthur threatened, "Now get on, we haven't got all of eternity to get over your mangy pride and false dignity or are you scared."

"You sure you want me on board?" Yao asked teasingly, answered by the gun barrel to his head. "Getting impatient now are we? Tsk Tsk." But Yao walked onto the deck of the ship, it wasn't as if he had a choice and now he had somewhere to go, despite his condition.

Arthur instantly called out for the ship to get out of port, the night was calm and it was useful to take advantage of, so there would probably be a typhoon and he didn't want to stay too long. Immediately handcuffing the Chinese pirate and pushing him around to direct where they were going.

"So where will I be staying on your ship."

Arthur thought over the question, he didn't trust the dragon in the hell hole that was the bottom of the ship, even if he couldn't think of anything that would lead to destruction under there, the crew who had previously kept Yao in the bottom of their ship were never seen again. There were places where he had kept other prisoners when not intending to mentally destroy them but, he felt they would be too comfortable for the pirate. He intended to make his imprisonment as uncomfortable as possible without making the other act rashly and cause some destruction to his beautiful ship. "My cabin."

"What?!"

"You will be staying in my cabin, exactly where I can keep an eye on you."

"I'll kill you in your sleep aru, it's won't be that difficult."

"Yes, you really want to stay in some prison don't you? Luckily I seem to have prepared for a situation like this. You will stay in my cabin until I find no more use for you, then I will collect your ransom." Arthur ordered, he glanced at his prisoner, he didn't seemed fazed at the information or didn't anything surprise him, he decided to try something, "And you will follow my orders and in times of combat, you will fight as one of my crew or I will kill that boy."

Yao was pushed harshly into the cabin; the room was lavishly decorated with reds and golds, golden instruments were littered around the room, maps and compasses were strewn around messily. A bookshelf was neatly tucked in the corner. Yao studied the room, memorising details, he suspected that the room had a few secret passages and doors but he would have to look into that after. Arthur shoved him into an already open door, leading him towards an isolated room, it wasn't specifically fancy but it wasn't what one would think of a prison, especially a prison for one of the most feared pirates in the world, all it had was a single bed. But the room was dark but Yao assumed he would still have to live in the dark. "You want to use unpredictability against me, don't you?"

"Who knows, but I do need to stop you from killing me in my sleep, you will become very useful to me."

"What if I kill myself aru?"

"You should know the answer to that."

"Then, what would happen if someone raided your ship and you were…how should I say…preoccupied."

"Then you will sink with the ship. But I doubt that will happen."

Arthur chained Yao's foot to the room, leaving his hands in shackles, Yao sat on the bed, his body tired, his mind no less exhausted, he needed sleep even if it was on the ship of his enemy, his cuffed hands lying tiredly on his lap, eyes impassive to everything around him. "About your injury, I don't want it making a mess so I will look at it later." Arthur's voiced sounded like steel on steel, to anyone it may have seemed an honest comment but to Yao, he knew what it really meant. He glared at the Englishman, knowing the true meaning of his motives, "Make sure you don't get any blood on you aru."

Arthur smiled, the limited light exaggerating his features, the moonlight moving with the ship on his face, bright green eyes glowing under shadows, and in that moment, Yao knew why Arthur Kirkland was called the English Devil.


	7. The Alliance of the Northern Ghosts

**A/N: **I know sometimes the unofficial names for characters can be different so ja...these are simply my preferences..i know sweden and finland are official but i felt like putting it in there (i hope this wasnt too pointless) (i also apologise for any mistakes as there probably will be...)

Tino Väinämöinen - Finland

Berwald Oxenstierna - Sweden

Mathias Køhler - Denmark

Lukas Bondvik - Norway

Emil Steilsson - Iceland

Nordics~

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><p>The ship echoed across the ghostly deep water, the deep mysterious green grew into fluorescent blue on the ice caps that grew out from underneath the mirror-like surface of the water, floating silently. The sky was a dull grey; stuck in the middle of night and day due to the northern coordinates of the lonely vessel. The sails of the ship were down but the tear of the fabric was still visible, if one were to look twice at the ghostly pallor of the ship, they would assume it to be a hallucination or a nightmare of undead spirits. But it was as real as the melting icebergs which framed the seas, soon the ship would reach the frozen shore of an abandoned cave and then the meeting would begin.<p>

The air was silent as the ship crawled onto the obsidian gravel, crunching as the hull of the ship came into view, the deck absent of any signs of the living. The sails wavering in the breeze as the tap-tap of boots could be heard. A single person was on the deck, face shadowed in the obscurities as night finally stretched over the skies, brightening the dull flecks of light that sung in space. The person jumped off the ship, landing easily on the ground, walking confidently into the abyss of the cave, the darkness eating up his form completely. The ship laid to rest as the water barely lapped the wooden planks.

As the darkness clutched around the man, the sounds of drips could be heard as well as the rippling of water. Soon there was a faint light at the ending of a tunnel, torches begun to appear on the cave walls, giving the stone tunnels a fiery glow as the flames danced with the oncoming breaths of wind.

"Sorry I'm late, got caught up at a bar somewhere!" He shouted.

"Of course an idiot like you would do that, but luckily, this time you're not the only one late."

"Oh, are the others late as well?" The man itched at the back of his head, spiky blond hair ghosting on his wrist.

"Unfortunately, only you, me and Emil are here." The other young man replied, his form sitting on a stone ledge that grew out from the wall.

"Heh, I could guess a reason at why those two are late." The man winked.

"It's not that, they were caught up, apparently someone gave their positions."

"Wait weren't they travelling on different ships this time?"

"They were; someone gave both their positions." The man glared at the offending pirate.

"Wasn't me, I was busy today…" The other man scoffed, "-Drinking?"

"Well, technically I was still busy before and I always drink, you should know that."

"I do."

"Well, I was actually doing my job this time, patrolling the northern border by the way; there has been no movement by Braginsky, is he even there. I think we should send in a scout, I can't go over and check, he would count it as a breach of the treaty."

"I doubt he's there, but he has many subordinates, we have to maintain that treaty for now."

"For now."

The two men suddenly turned, hearing the approaching steps, watching warily as another two men emerged from the dark corners of the tunnel entrance.

"Sorry we're late, we had a mole. Luckily it wasn't anyone serious, just another idiot who thought they could beat us."

"You were together?" Lukas asked emotionlessly.

"No, we just met up on the way; it was a planned attack though, so we were attacked at the same time." The shorter man answered, the other pirate settling himself on a neglected wooden chair, surrounding an empty table that was only being occupied by a young man who was leaning; uninterested in the conversation but listening anyway. A puffin settled on his head.

"Tino, was there any chance that it could have a larger attack, there have been suspicious movements lately?" The spiky haired one asked.

"Mathias, it's not usually you who actually asks a reasonable question, but we don't know, it could have been more of a serious attack but there has been loss or change of anything. It was a complete victory over on my side."

"N'th'g str'nge on my s'de." The other pirate who had entered with Tino replied.

"Oh well, maybe it's just me, I did come back from patrolling so maybe I'm just being suspicious."

"Hmmm."

"But it's good to be cautious, if it does end up to be a larger threat then at least we should be prepared for it, if it's Braginsky and we weren't ready, that could be quite the problem." Tino pondered, "But I don't think even he can defeat us now."

The comment gained the attention of all the five men in the cave, nothing like that had been said; of course all of them were thinking it but they were afraid to say it aloud, as if even whispering the fact that they were the most powerful pirate alliance could jinx the fact that they were. "After all," Tino continued, "even one us of is a challenge, to defeat all five of us, I believe is extremely unlikely."

Lukas sighed, "Since we'll be targeted sooner or later, out secret will eventually reach the ears of those powerful, few would have already known about our alliance, as Braginsky did. I think we should start." Everyone's faces were guarded, silent in thought.

"I th'nk we wa't"

The gruff voice brought out a sigh from Mathias, the Danish pirate pacing around as he rubbed his head in though. "I agree with Berwald. I opt that we wait until someone else makes a move."

The rest of the men stood shocked, the Dane was usually the first to rush into battle and the last to leave, waiting patiently was not his style but the other pirates respected his battle strategies, as they usually led them to victory. "Since, from what I've heard, the world will soon fall into chaos. There are rumours but when you know the right people, you can usually dig out the truth in those rumours."

"So what will happen?" Lukas, the Norwegian of the group, asked.

Mathias smiled, "Apparently, the Dragon of the East has fallen." There were muffled whispers and self-mumblings but the statement was accepted, "And he might be in the captivity of the English Devil." That particular sentence had gained the attention of all the pirates, they knew that Wang Yao had disappeared but into the hands of the English Devil, even they hadn't heard that. "And on the topic of our dear English captain, they say there is a plot against him."

"There's always a plot against him, besides our alliance and perhaps the fleet of Braginsky, he's the strongest out there and he does it alone. Braginsky has his fleet and his spies while we have our alliance and we are all pretty strong as a fact. But the Devil, the amount of power he has gained without assistance is actually of attention. And if your sources are true, he's got the Dragon and he was the only other who could take him on without any alliances or support." Lukas exhaled,

"But you see," the Dane smirked, it was dark and in the dim lighting it was a sight to take in, "The plotters, I'm not sure but it's definitely likely that they are the three pirates, Francis Bonnefoy, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo and Gilbert Beilschmidt."

"The Eagle? Wasn't he captured?"

"He escaped."

"Figures."

"But that particular alliance, it's quite powerful…maybe…" Tino muttered to himself, his pale blond hair glowed a quaint orange, "Do think we can take advantage of it? If it's possible that they can knock down the English Devil, then we don't have to do it ourselves."

"Obviously we'll take advantage of it, but I don't think we should rely on them, the Devil is rather sneaky at escaping." The tall Dane indicated, he was the second tallest of the group, the tallest was the Swedish, Berwald.

"But he never gets caught."

"Oh he does, he just kills all the witnesses."

"S' we wa't."

"We wait until they all kill each other off, besides Braginsky and maybe a few more of the pirates and maybe the Devil if he survives. No one will stand in our way, our plan is fool proof!" Mathias laughed, "And after all that manipulative play, I'll finally be able to get a good bit of blood spilt, my hands are itching for battle." His looked down onto his trembling hands; they weren't trembling because of fear or anxiety but excitement and the feel for a certain axe of his.

"Shut up, you idiot."

"Oh come on, I know I'm not the only one who craves for battle." Mathias' voice was laced with arrogance, the reluctant silence only adding to his ego.

A sigh came from the table; the only member of the group who had not spoken in the conversation stood up and stretched his limbs. His vibrant violet eyes contrasting with his grey–pale blond hair, compared to the others he was quite young and perched comfortably on his shoulder was a sleek and rather classy puffin. In his hands were a scroll, parchment yellow and missing its edges the paper looked like it had weathered a hail storm, but the young man rolled out the scroll. Illuminating the ink marks that out laid a map.

"What is it Emil?" the Norwegian pirate asked, his eyes studying the dark grey instrument of location.

"Is th't wh't I th'nk it is?" Tino looked over at the tall Swede that muttered the words, then looking at the map himself. "It it…the…"

"Holy Shit Steilsson! How in hell did you get that?!"

The Icelandic man let himself a small smirk, smoothing down some of the feathers on his puffin, "I am a pirate for a reason and one could consider that I did actually have to go to hell and back to get this. But before anything, even I didn't think it would exist but when I found it, my suspicions were correct."

"Where did you get it from?" Tino asked quietly,

"It was in the ice."

They all glanced at the vague answer, shrugging it off; in their minds of minds they each knew the answer to where he had found the crumbled map but if they all knew then they would have no need to say where so they didn't.

The zealous Dane puffed out a sigh, breaking the tension in the cave, "Well no matter where Emil got it, it will help us in ways that the other pirates won't be able to imagine. Because in the end we now have a weapon that no one else even knows of, well I guess a few people might but they are few in numbers."

The Finnish pirate, Tino Väinämöinen let his thoughts merge for a second, "Because in the end we have it, The Inferis Codice, the map of maps."

Lukas Bondevik waited for a second, "This map has only been mentioned in legends, the fact that it exists or can even be found is stunning. You know in those legends they say it can lead you to whatever you seek, no matter what it is. They also say that it shows the skeleton of the world that was the draft of the earth. Problem is…there's also a curse."

"Wh'ts the c'rse?"

"I…I don't know."

"But you know, like, everything to do with mythology, whether it's Scandinavian or not."

"But just in case, I do not want to exploit its uses yet, just in case the curse is something like making the user wander the earth in mid-death for all eternity. You're lucky Mathias that I managed to warn you that time or you'd be stuck forever."

"Oh come on, I don't know…haunting civilisation for all of eternity sounds tempting but I like my flesh on my bones. Hey do you think that we should make copies of this map…after all…it's the original so there wouldn't be a curse right?"

"Since when have you ever said actual useful information, Tino check if he's a mole, there has got to be something wrong with him?"

Tino dragged off Mathias into a further cavern in the cave. The three remaining pirates waited as they heard the muffled yelps and distant cries of pain. The sound broke off for a few minutes leaving a stagnant atmosphere but then there was a wild yell and even some of the pirates started to feel a bit of pity.

"Don't y'u think th't's eno'gh? He did g've some us'ful inf'rm'tion."

"I guess so."

"Emil, go fetch the two." The Icelandic trudged his way, his soundless footsteps murmuring into the dim light as he eventually led back the other two, the Danish man being extremely bruised but smiling but with the swelling he looked quite deformed, "Bondevik, according to Tino, I'm not a mole okay?"

"Tch."

"So?"

"I guess that could work, but it would only be the map, a copy wouldn't transfer the magical properties but I guess we could use the mapping uses first until I'm able to figure out the curse before we have to use it."

Tino wandered around, even though both Berwald and Mathias looked more like the heads of the group, they all respected him. Mathias did usually take care of the combat and the others had their places but he knew he was seen as the leader. Tino Väinämöinen; the Ghost Pirate. And he honestly found it amusing how many people suspected he was the weakest but they were very, very wrong. But that was a story for another time. "Here is what I propose, after this meeting; we split up for the time being. Not the alliance but our outer communications, we have kept it a secret but I want to fortify the illusion even further because I have a feeling that, by the next time we meet again the world would have changed. Because when we'll unite, it will be to attack. So continue the missions and by the time everyone has realised what we've done. It'll be too late and the world will finally be ours."


	8. Phantoms of the Night

The Phantom Master.

One of the few that had managed to steal some of the world's most valuable treasures, he had never been seen, never been caught. The only thing that people knew was that he was Italian and that he always left a note at the end of the day, a calling card except it was blank, always blank. People considered him a myth, a legend that the wind had blown in, nothing more than a dream remembered to be forgotten. People who knew he existed and knew about the calling cards thought he was crazy, just another person to be locked away. But the few that knew he was real as the light of the day were the children on the streets of the cities of which he stole from. The children who saw his shadow cast over the dark starless nights, his figure jumping over the roofs of city houses, his arrogant smile when he knew that they had saw him and knew he was more than an urban legend and if the children were lucky, a view of his jewelled mask and a tip of the hat that he always wore and if somebody was especially lucky and saw the phantom after he has stolen something, he would perhaps drop a few jewels into the pockets of children accidently.

Another interesting trait about the Phantom Master besides that the only sightings of him had him with a classic Venetian mask, an embossed cloak that covered the whole body and a large, fancy hat with a single white ostrich feather; all of it was black. Was that some people had said that he could split his body into two and that people had seen two of the Phantom master at the same time. They swore that he was a ghost sent by the dead to avenge the people who had died due to the treasures or the people that kept the treasures. No word ever came from the Phantom except for the blank calling card, which always remained after, glowing white in the darkness where the treasure would have been.

Well that was what most people thought. He on the other hand, knew that there was someone behind the mask and that they were very much alive. It was his job to hunt down and arrest the criminals of the world, thieves, kidnappers, scum on the backstreets of towns and cities; he had seen it all before. He was even, so to speak, a threat to pirates who seemed to believe that the whole sea as theirs. He had caught many pirates for his age; many more than some of the supposed best pirate hunters. He even had a nickname in the pirate circles; they seemed to call him Hell's Courier, he suspected it was because of all the people he had sent to the gallows.

He picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, it was all the belongings that he had; personally he didn't need that much. Slicking back his pale blond hair he walked into the inn. As soon as he stepped into the bustling crowd that was the main bar of the inn, the reaction was immediate. It turned silent. He could feel the people stare at him, well he was quite well known. As he knew they would begin with his slicked back blond hair, then they would see the exposed muscles. He was a man of convenience and it was quite warm in the city and thus he was only wearing a singlet. Then they would happen to look at the weapons on his belt but then they would glance back to his eyes, his startling blue eyes.

"I would like a single room for a week please." He asked the innkeeper politely, placing the previously calculated money on the counter. The innkeeper counted the money and took out a large book, "And what name will it be under?"

"Ludwig." He answered quickly, he did have a surname but he rather not say it aloud in front of people. He had a family, he had a brother.

"Surname?" He looked at the requesting innkeeper, placing another coin on the counter, "We forget the last name."

The innkeeper took the coin and closed the book, "I'll show you to your room."

He was quickly shown to the second level of the inn, still feeling the mass of eyes staring or glaring into his back. Following the innkeeper as he lead him to his room, he walked in as the man informed him of when dinners and lunches were usually timed and that the bar was open for most of the day and night. He thanked the innkeeper and retired to his room, locking the door behind him.

The room was simple and luckily it was kept clean, he had a certain dislike for dirty rooms. Placing the bag on the bed he reached into a pocket to grab an envelope, sitting in the only chair of the room, it didn't matter he would not be spending a lot of his time inside. He glazed over the contents, it was simply a request to arrest the Phantom master and in a state of humour it had said "in all shapes and forms" It told him that he would find that most of the Phantom Master's activated were located in this city and they usually had sightings every fortnight or so. Placing the envelope back into his pocket he thought back to when he was being stared at in the inn. He was used to it, which was the reaction he got most of the time, excluding some special situations. But some of those people were pirates, not any major names or personalities, just some small scum who had too big of attitudes.

He suddenly thought back to the innkeeper and when he had asked for his surname. He did indeed have one though; Beilschmidt…Ludwig Beilschmidt; but most recognised that name as too belonging to the rather well known and quite infamous pirate, The Black Eagle. Why out of all the people who had to become pirates, one had to be his brother? He didn't know why his brother had resorted to piracy, he could have made a good living being a man like him but no he had run out to the seven seas and the next he had heard that he was being arrested and hanged in a foreign city. So he himself had gone to that city to see his brother hanged. Well it didn't go that way because the person who was being hanged wasn't his brother and his brother had escaped with the bulk of the cities hidden secret treasure. He admitted that Gilbert was quite a skilled pirate and he had been impressed when saw that familiar white hair on the roofs of the palace, crown on his head and a sack of gold on his back as he ran to his ship; laughter echoing.

He remembered the day as it was memorised into his mind forever, that smirk he had grown up with. He remembered chasing the Prussian to the port and seeing the ship glide off into the sea and the haunting moment later when his brother had seen him. The falter of the confident smirk, the sudden sadness in his eyes but then he had the smirk back on and was waving back to him as the ship left. Ludwig hadn't waved back.

There was something he feared; more than anything else. That one unfortunate day he would receive an order to go and search for his brother and arrest him; to bring his own brother to his death, a death that he would have caused. He hoped that day would never come, but he knew the reason he feared it was because of its likeliness to happen. He was probably the best pirate hunter; Hell's Courier. And his brother was the Black Eagle

Shaking his head from those thoughts, they were only brought on by the fact that he had heard, from various rumours that Gilbert has escaped from his latest imprisonment by Roderich Edelstein. Well anyway, he had to concentrate on his job now.

He put on his bag, exiting the room and locking it behind him. Walking down to the bar for a good serving of beer, taking a seat and ignoring the stares he ordered for some of the amber coloured alcohol. He based his hunts off rumours because the best sources of information were just rumours at the best of times and this way he didn't have to pay anyone for the knowledge. Surveying the customers already drinking, he arrived at the city around noon and now it was approximately four hours past. He supposed that the bar would become more hectic eventually. His fell on a pair of individuals drinking at a table not too far from his.

"Ve~ Are we going or not, fratello?" They were probably Italian: this one had a weird curl sticking out from the left of his hair.

"Yeah I guess we can go is it anything important today? I wasn't listening to grandpa today." And the other also had a curl but it stood more from the front.

"Oh yeah, he said that about that thing, the one that he needed help with."

"Oh that thing, what do we have to do this time?"

"Fratello this is why you shouldn't fantasise while grandpa is speaking."

"I did not fucking fantasise about anyone."

"Just the usual this time, anyway."

"Hmpf, fine"

Ludwig zoned out of the conversation, he didn't know if the conversation would be important, it was most likely not. He thought about it, he had heard already the people supposed that the Phantom Master would strike tonight. But where exactly he didn't know. Ludwig reached in his bag to take out a map of the city. And one of the calling cards he was sent as evidence if he could possibly solve the reason why The Phantom Master used such cards. Then he studied the map, crossing off the places that the thief had already struck, leaving him with the few places that still had treasures remaining. One in particular interested him. It was the home of one of the richest men in the country. And the supposed treasure was a red diamond, approximately thirteen centimetres wide and thirteen centimetres across. And it was one of a pair, the other was being held in Russia somewhere.

So that was the most likely target. He could give it a try; Ludwig started planning his night.

* * *

><p>Fortunately the owner of the diamond had allowed him to watch over the precious jewel without too much argument or the use of force which was always good in Ludwig's books. The building was large and marble pillars ran the length of the hallways. Ludwig walked alone towards the treasury and where that single diamond laid in wait. He had already set the trap and when all was ready he would catch that thief and bring him to justice as the hands of the person who had paid him. The German took his place in the shadows of the treasury room, behind the glorious diamond.<p>

* * *

><p>He put the mask on his face, neon white in the dark; it caught the glow of the small crescent of the moon. The cloak wrapped around his body and the hat shadowed his face as it always did. He stood on the rooftop of the inn. Staring out at the distance. Already his accomplice was waiting at the other place and they would meet after he got the job done. It was the red diamond. This time though they weren't stealing for someone else but more for themselves. Whatever, right now it was his turn to strike.<p>

The Phantom Master crouched low as he ran over the tiled roof, his footsteps unheard as he balanced precariously in the dark. People were asleep and he didn't care if they saw, no one would know his identity, no one knew and no one would find out. His feet propelled him as he jumped off the roof, rolling onto the flat surface of a different building as he got up and continued further. As he got to the edge of the building, he leaped once again, latching himself onto the wall of a church. Saying apologies and prayers to God, he did admit that he was a religious man even though what he was doing at the moment wasn't exactly a holy activity. And from there he climbed, feet confidently latching onto bricks that were jutting out and hands clawing at the wall. As his hands reached the edge of the roof he deftly swung himself up, partially hand standing on the edge before his shoes made contact with the slanted roof.

He surveyed the area before him, there were still some lights on but there were always some lights that always blinked throughout the night, it wasn't like he wasn't used to it. He strutted on the roof and waited. There it was, a single shadow not too far from himself but impossible to see it and him at the same time. He finally turned towards his left, eyes making contact with the mansion that belonged to some rich person. He did not care of who owned the diamond or who he stole from. Well sometimes he did, if he was stealing for a purpose but it was only diamond tonight. The diamond that his grandpa wanted.

He jumped and ran again, landing perfectly as he went his way. His cloak whispering behind him. Leaping and jumping from building to building. The Phantom somersaulted, ever getting closer to the grand building. Stopping his tirade as he stood on the edge of a taller building, a large road separated him and the roof of the rich man's building. He stood on what could be called a tower and he glanced back before him, the shadow was still in the corner of his eye and he could tell it was watching him as he watched it. Smirking he walked a few steps back, he ran off the tower and jumped off, diving into the cold night air, feeling it rush past him as gravity pulled him to his doom. Opening his eyes he latched onto the edge of the building, easily flipping over onto the roof. Cartwheeling several times on the lifted edge, there were gargoyles here, he had never been here before because of the constant guard watch but those guards didn't bother him now. He crouched on the head of a gargoyle. His cloak flying out before him, those guards were blind to him, hiding and smirking in the shadows.

He suddenly wondered if he should wait for his accomplice, he was better at hiding and running and not as good at fighting, both of them weren't particularly good at fighting but his accomplice was at least better than him. Or he could just knock them out; it wasn't that hard if they didn't expect him. Maybe he should it be better if they were caught then there would be less guards to worry about. Shrugging, he stood up of the round, ugly head of the stone gargoyle. Flexing his fingers, there were about eight guards on the roof, they had added one more person; probably a messenger to alert the other guards in the mansion. He singled out that person from the rest; luckily he wasn't too far from the gargoyle he was standing on. The Phantom sighed, he would have to be quick, it would have been easier with his accomplice here but it didn't matter now. Leaping, he somersaulted in the air as his feet caught onto the neck of the messenger. Hands clasping on the edge of the roof, he swung the unsuspecting person onto the brick wall, not hard enough to kill but definitely enough to knock him out.

The muffled gasp of the person caused a few of the guards to look around but they lost interest soon enough when an owl flew past. He lowered the knocked out man into one of the many balconies on the building, soon climbing back up. He eyed the seven people he was going to have to knock out. He walked into the centre of the roof, pacing to the nearest person. Covering their mouth and then using his knuckles to strike the back of the neck, the man fell soon enough. The Phantom just let the man drop without the use of hiding the sleeping body; it would use up too much energy. He then moved on the next few people, easily dispatching them without too much challenge. Now there were three left. Fratello would be proud of him knocking out so many people.

Two of those guards were talking together and so were close, he could knock them out at the same time and now that there were less people he wouldn't have to be so secretive. Lowering himself to the side of the building he climbed so that he was directly under the chatting guards, he turned so he was facing away from the building, masked face in the air. Hands firmly on the edge he twisted himself backward and struck both of the guards in the face, knocking them out straight away. The last guard had heard the cries and looked over the edge, but no one was there. Instead that guard felt someone tap his back, turning around, he came face to face with the Phantom Master and before he could react or say anything. The Phantom Master kicked the temple of the young guards face. Well that was the guards taken care of. Now for the diamond, well he looked back, on a closer building his accomplice was waiting. It was his job tonight to retrieve the jewel and they would both go back ensuring its safety.

He walked down a trapdoor into the mansion, if the plans that he received were correct than the diamond would be held in the treasury. He sneaked in cautiously, the treasury was on the bottom level and there were quite a few levels in this building. He entered the lavishly decorated place, oh at least it was dark. One time he had stolen something from a building when the lights were on and it was quite annoying. There were fewer guards here as well, there were a few but they were sleepy and he could creep, without problems, away from them.

He made it down the first few levels without trouble but it was now that he was expecting trouble. There were two problems that he would face. One, that there would be more guards here and they would be alert to a thief and two; he had heard rumours that the master of the house had the service of the Courier of Hell, a scary man who hunted pirates and sometimes other people. He desperately hoped that the rumours were wrong because he was sure he would lose in a combat battle against someone trained like that, he didn't want to get caught.

He made it to the level of the treasury, and his suspicions were proven to be correct as the place was littered with guards. But they had curtains and they still had shadows so he could manage. Exiting out the window of a hallway he came outside of the window of the treasury and he could see the scarlet coloured diamond in the dark. Opening the glass panel he squeezed through, his cloak sliding in like the tail of a snake. He dropped down onto the tiled floor, only the diamond was kept here. He stood there, staring at it. So far he was suspicious, it looked like the real thing but so far the whole ordeal was too easy. If he took it knew didn't know what he would have to face. He looked hard into the shadows, was someone waiting for him; would they attack him, shoot him if he touched the red, hard skin of that jewel. But he needed it and he would have to go with that chance. He hoped that his accomplice was waiting for him because he would have to run, he was good at running away and he would have to take the jewel quickly. He stepped forward; the diamond was being kept on a pedestal and a red velvet cushion. He made his cloak puff out suddenly, hiding his hands and he grabbed the diamond and ran.

"Stop!" He heard someone call out, "Stop or I shoot!"

He was climbing the window as fast as he could, determined to get to the small escape hole. He heard gunfire, but he felt no bullet. He felt the air on him as he felt the outside wall of the building. Diamond safely in a pouch he climbed. Hands grappling at the bricks, he desperately wanted to make it to the roofs; there he was safe…or safer then here. He had only caught a brief glimpse of the person who had caught him but he was sure it was the Courier. The man had waited for him and he had to get the diamond away or from himself at the very least. He needed his fratello here.

He arrived on the roof, but unfortunately for the Phantom, Ludwig was waiting for him. _How the hell had he gotten there so fast?_

The Phantom had no choice, he had to fight. He withdrew a sword from the folds of his coat; it had a thin but hard blade. He charged at the man, swinging the weapon. But the man caught the blade with his. Ludwig made eye contact with the thief, but something confused him, sticking out from the left side of the mask was a curl. Furrowing his eyebrows he accidently gave the thief enough time to turn tail and run away from him and onto another roof. Shouting, he cashed after the thief, not jumping as elegantly but managing.

He tried to grasp at the cloak, surprised when his fingers finally caught the slick, shivering fabric. He heard the mangled gasp of the Phantom Master. With the agility of a cat, the thief turned around and slashed at the blond follower with his sword. But what the German didn't expect was the two legged kick at his exposed back, pushing him to the roof.

"Romano, you came!" The thief shouted and Ludwig turned to see his attacker, what he didn't expect was the same Phantom staring back at him, his head turned from the two cloaked thieves. So there were two people and they shared the same identity.

"Si and just in time it looks like." And he drew out his own sword.

Ludwig stumbled up, his hands still on his sword.

"Run away, I'll deal with the courier." The second Phantom answered.

"No, I'll stay." Romano smiled inside, he felt his pride swell as he watched his brother and his sword but he would've preferred that he had run.

They both attacked. Ludwig had experience in sword fighting, he had bested pirates but two at once was difficult for anybody; and these two weren't amateurs. They fought well and he had to struggle to stop himself from being stabbed through the heart by one of their swords. He thrust his sword out, blocking the strikes as the metal clanged. They were quick and they disappeared in the dark before he could stab at them. He turned to attack but he met only air. They had run off while he was distracted. But he knew where they were going and he ran off that way. He was going to catch them, it was his duty.

* * *

><p>"Fratello?"<p>

"Yes, Feliciano."

"I want you to take the diamond."

"Why?"

They were resting on the deserted balcony of an old building; eventually they would take the diamond to port where they would give it to their contact.

"I think he recognised me; I remember him, he was the stranger in the bar today." Feliciano answered.

"And why should I take the diamond."

"Because he will chase after me and if he still thinks I have the diamond then you can escape and give it to Antonio before anyone else can realise."

"No. I won't let you go sacrifice yourself." He said angrily, he saw through his brother's façade.

"But."

"No."

"At least take the diamond. It'll be safer in your hands." Feliciano stared at his brother with puppy dog eyes, he had taken off his mask but it was alright for the moment. "Lovino."

"Fine. I'll take the damn diamond." Lovino sighed, his brother should stop using those eyes all the time, he couldn't take it.

Feliciano handed his brother the pouch he had put that red diamond in. Romano took it and hid it in his cloak. "But we both take it to the port."

"Ve~ Okay fratello." And Feliciano put his mask back on, they had to go and give it to a contact and then the contact would give it to a friend of theirs.

The two brothers went at a simple pace, still taking the way on the roofs of the houses, both flying together. And soon they saw the glimmer of the sea, the wind quiet deceitful of the events that had just transpired. They walked to the ship port as they waited for their contact.

"Just as I thought."

The voice came from behind them, the German accent strong in the night.

"Run." Feliciano cried, "Fratello, run."

"No, I won't leave you!" Lovino instantly regretted not taking the mission today, why wasn't he the one that was shouting run, why? He knew what Feliciano was going to do, many thought his brother was dull but he could be surprisingly cunning sometimes. He had given him the diamond; he had known this was going to happen.

"Go!" Suddenly he turned to the Courier, "I have the diamond, he has nothing to with this!"

Why had his brother had to sound so brave, he was used to him being a coward and shouting surrender but no; he didn't like it when he was being brave.

"Run! Lovino!"

He couldn't take it anymore, behind his mask, he could feel the tears, but his was their mission, he would take the diamond personally, Lovino decided then and there. "Feliciano! I'll find you!" And he ran, it hurt him, his tears were streaking down his face, still when he had gone far from the port he was still muttering the same words, he would find Feliciano, even if he had to go on the seven seas by himself, he would rescue him, the diamond feeling heavy in his coat.

* * *

><p>"Good he went." Feliciano watched when his brother ran, trying to make his voice strong when his face was already wet with tears. He faced the hunter.<p>

"I am the Phantom Master."

Ludwig watched the whole ordeal, he would take this one to the person who paid him and his boat was already here.

"I will have to take you."

"I understand."

He put the handcuffs on the thief, taking off the mask in the process; he stared at the tear marked face, he felt pity but it was his job and he had to. And they walked onto his ship, an owl landing on Ludwig's shoulder. He asked one of his crew to give his prisoner a change of clothes and a room, he didn't seem like a terrible criminal and the German had decided to be merciful. Taking the message vial off the owl's foot, it was the next person he was charged with taking care of. He always had an anxious feeling when he unrolled the scroll but for the first time he dropped the piece of paper.

He shook, why? Why must it be now?

The words on the scroll. They were the name of his next target and the condition of how he was to deal with the target.

_Gilbert Beilschmidt. _

_Dead._

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** yeah...its a longer chapter this time but i didn't feel i could cut this one...so yea...not a direct relation to pirates but *shrugs* i like the idea of the italy brothers as thieves..

and i apologise if this chapter took a while to upload (yeah i was off eating food in Korea...) (honestly its better then The allied detective agency...ive basically abandoned that fic...ill rewrite it one day...)

If you lived through me constantly annoying u guys with me apologising for my bad punctuation...yea the rest is all me skim reading so...heres one last apology...


	9. Attack of Daemons

The three ships sailed on the sea, gliding in the deep blue water; the sea surface rippling as the ships travelled with their sails up. Their oppressing hulls even making fish avoid the water that was more close to the light of the late day. The scaled forms swimming deeper into the vast ocean. The air felt tense but relaxed with a determined arrogance, as if the just the presence of these three captains could frighten nature itself. Each of the three vessels was well built, with at least two rows of cannons but double masted due to the fact that the pirates valued speed over sheer power. The wood was gleaming in the sun but clouds travelled above, leaving dark pools of shadows over the sea and the deck. It was amazing to see a meeting of such hated pirates but they were planning something much more sinister than just a simple meeting. They were planning the overthrowing of a king.

The seas were what people valued as freedom but they were dangerous and always lethal. If nature didn't kill you then you fall victim to the pirates that roamed the seven seas. And there was one such pirate that you just didn't want to meet unless you were on par with him and that was rare; or you were just daring and an idiot which was far more common. At this current time, the English Devil had managed to conspire most of the world into his hands; overthrowing most of the last generation of pirates. He was a privateer and that honour had given him more freedom than most pirates and occasionally helped his mother country of Britain. Or he just attacked it. No one knew where he had come from before, all they knew that he was British and a tyrant. He could be seen as the unofficial king of the seas and they hated it.

Francis's heels echoed on the deck but it was a sound that this crew were much familiar with, the man had always worn heels that just surprised the men that he could fight so well or just manoeuvre in the shoes. The Frenchman paced around the deck, checking to make sure that his ship was in the best condition; he could not face the Devil of the seas in any other circumstance. He had battled Arthur Kirkland many times before but something felt different this time. This time he would finally rid the world of that man's cursed presence. "Gilbert's information better be right; otherwise he might cause all our deaths. It's not like we are hidden on these seas. Soon we shall split then carry out our attack." Francis laughed, it was menacing and cold; not like the soft laughter that he used to woe ladies, "You hear that Kirkland. I will be your end."

There was a flame signal from the centre ship, which was Carriedo's; he had spurred them into this battle after returning from the capture of the British captain, the rest of them had only agreed readily. He was causing more trouble for them then he had ever had, though he was more of Francis' rival than Beilschmidt's or Carriedo's, no one could dispatch Kirkland by themselves; the bodies of those who had tried only showed undoubting truth. One could battle him by themselves but to escape with their life was rare and had eliminated the weak from the strong. Truthfully, the three pirates all had equally terrifying reputations and weren't ones to be tampered with. But they wanted to take the power which Kirkland had, the riches and power which belonged to the Brit, who sat on his throne and felt gold pour into his hand.

Francis shouted to his crew to change directions, they would begin their assault soon. Carriedo had spotted Kirkland's ship and they were now going to trap him like the rat he was. He felt the ship beneath him follow the current; he had to stay out of sight, or out of the Brits attention for the longest. He had the greatest manpower out of the three and as much as he would like to rush in there and destroy Kirkland, it would be more strategic for him to wait.

Gilbert watched as the Antonio's ship powered forward, he would gain Arthur's attention first and hopefully occupy him the longest. Out of the three of them, he had the most doubts on this attack though he was the one who had found out the Devil's positions and sailing path. Oh well no matter, he would be the one to attack second, he would probably get a pounding to his ship since he would be attacking from the side and he expected the Brit to realise what they were doing by then but then Francis would attack. That's when the real battle would begin, he doubted that this fight would be won on the seas. One of them would have to personally dispatch the English Devil and he was the one with the least problems with the English captain. He had already ordered his crew to change their course, mirroring Francis in arching away from Antonio.

Antonio paced tensely; he would be the one to attack Kirkland from the front; though he was the one who had had decided to go in first, he still couldn't help but think back to their previous encounter and how he had been close to death even though it wasn't that bad, he had been in worse situations before. But the feeling of the rope around his neck was still imprinted on his mind. He felt his neck for a moment, catching himself in the act, he swore, he shouldn't be showing any weakness or the fact that the Devil had made an effect on him. Snapping his hand back down quickly; he put his leather hat on tightly, placing the hand that was at his neck at the hilt of his sword. They were travelling at full speed; he wasn't going to lose anything to Kirkland, nothing anymore. The sea was riling up as well, maybe this was a good day; if there was the storm then all the evidence would disappear, not that there would be any but even if Arthur managed to survive the battle, he wouldn't the sea. The waves lapped at the ship as he headed towards turmoil, seeing the outline of a ship; a ship that he knew very well.

Antonio walked calmly to the wheel; from here he would be leading, ordering for the sails to be dropped, their white canvas letting the sun shine through them. The wind blowing them out and forward, the ships speed increasing greatly with the help of the wind. Their flags down, why beat the advantage that the Brit had no idea how his ship looked like after he destroyed his past vessel. His dark green eyes sparked in hatred and his lust for blood.

Captain Arthur Kirkland sat bored in his cabin, fiddling with a mapping device on his desk, Yao sitting on one of the chairs in unfitting western clothing. The large shirt hanging off his skinny body, though it looked odd, he didn't mind the change of outfit, he preferred the Asian style he was used to but it wasn't like he could complain.

"Bored, Kirkland?" He scoffed, "You shouldn't be, you know what's heading for you."

The captain scowled, "Like you should be saying anything."

"You won't defeat them this time, you do know that aru." Yao dead panned.

Arthur glared at Yao, "I can defeat any bloody person who challenges me, you included."

Yao rolled his eyes, "You sound like Kiku; that arrogance will get you nowhere."

"You're just another old relic; your generation had passed already. Kiku showed the world that."

"He defeated me with your help; if he were not to blackmail me then he would be the one with the scar. You know that as well as I."

Kirkland sneered, "So much for arrogance."

The Chinese pirate raised an eyebrow, "When are you going to put on a defence, are you just going to let them attack you?"

"You're just concerned for your own safety aren't you?" The British pirate was leaning on his arms, as if his impending doom was just another boring, tedious task he had to complete.

"Obviously, it's not like I'd be concerned for the case of your ship and your existence. You're in a world where everyone hates you Arthur; where people scramble to kill you; I wonder how you've lasted so long." Yao smiled brightly, eyes closing.

"I could ask you the very same, actually more so; how the fuck did you survive for so long I'd say you've outlived your time. But I know about my predicament. It's nothing new."

"I just did what I had to do." Yao shrugged, "Though I do have a question." Arthur raised his head to look Yao in the eye. "Hmm?"

"What are your origins? Where do you come from, who were you before you were a pirate."

Arthur chuckled darkly, "Oh how you would like to know."

Yao blinked in silence, wanting an answer. "It is the only thing that most pirates do not know about you, usually there is some piece of information on where someone comes from but you're different, one day you appeared from nowhere then the next you ruled the seas."

The English Devil smirked, "I find that a complement that you can consider that I rule the world, especially from you."

Yao smiled ruefully, "Yes, I did rule it for a while but you never attacked me directly, was I too powerful for you; I wonder of that's why Bonnefoy is so sore towards you. You did attack him first or was that the Red Terror, ah I'm getting old I can't remember who you attacked first aru."

"They both hate me and I hate them and speaking of them, I should get ready. I think I've given them enough time to get here." Arthur stood up, pulling out his sword from a globe he had previously plunged the weapon in.

"You will lose Kirkland; you know that yourself. You will lose this battle." Yao kept sitting as Arthur put on his feathered hat, glancing at the shackle chaining him to the room.

The Englishman slid his sword into its scabbard on his belt, shoving a few guns into the leather as well. "I know I can lose, I know there will be times where I do lose battles but in the end." He smirked at Yao, eyes narrowing, face contorting into something darker and much more sinister, "I will always win the war."

Arthur left his cabin, ignoring the knowing smirk from the Chinese pirate as he locked the door behind him, he sighed. He fell into his restrained thirst for power and battle, ignoring that itching feeling in his head which was saying that he should spend his time escaping. As if he'll escape; this was going to be a thrill.

The English Devil walked onto the deck of his ship, boots clacking, teeth showing in a blood thirsty smirk which could be defined more as a freeze framed growl, hand on the hilt of his sword as he looked ahead to see a certain Spaniard's ship approaching him at full speed. He noted that the flag was down; did they really think he would be fooled by such a basic trick? As if, he looked out on the sea to see another ship on his side, he was guessing that that it belonged to the Black Eagle. The one who had got his positions but it was too late to change the course he had already planned, he just went with it. Honestly when he found out that the Prussian pirate had gotten hold of the information he was tempted to send the British Empire after them and then they would have to face an armada instead of him. But what was the fun in that?

He strutted towards the helm of his ship, he had everything to lose and a bit to win; though it would be worse to face him in a battle where he had nothing to lose, then he would go all out. His hands closed around the wooded handles of the wheel, the sails were already down. He looked out at the sky, high possibility of a storm, no matter though; he turned the ship to face the Red Terror's. So he did get a new one, he was just surprised he had survived the whole ordeal and managed to recover so quickly. Arthur sneered in distaste.

The two ships rushed at each other, waiting for the moment that they would start firing their cannons, that moment creeping ever closer. The tension present in the air, its electricity humming, obvious to the faraway eyes of Francis and Gilbert and in their blood from knowing that they would be in the battle soon enough. Arthur and Antonio inched closer; then the sound of the first cannon ripped through the air. Then came the unleashed explosions, the metal ripping though the wood of the hulls, Arthur expressionless as he saw the Black Eagle approach in the corner of his eye, he spun the ship around, dodging some of the cannons as he released an attack on the albino's ship.

"Fuck, he knew the whole time!" The Prussian swore, putting all his strength in turning his ship to avoid the broad of the attack, getting only minimal damage.

Francis frowned, Gilbert had gotten attacked sooner than was expected, they thought that he'd be more occupied by Carriedo but it didn't seem so. But attacking Beilschmidt had its drawbacks; Kirkland was now sustaining a lot of damage from the continuous attack of Antonio's cannons. What could he possibly gain by suffering so much damage even if it was to attack both ships? The French pirate looked up at the sky; dark monstrous clouds were gathering, closing upon the shreds of blue sky that was still in Francis' sight. The storm would begin soon, he would attack then, he decided. With the current predicament he didn't want to ruin their fun.

Carriedo smirked at the open hull of Arthur's ship, though it was still firing cannons at him. The sparks of explosions were evident even in the smoke that was released from the weapons. But he had much more of an advantage now; he began to bring his ship closer to the Brit's; there were treasures on that ship that Antonio had caught a glimpse of in his imprisonment and he wanted those riches almost as much as he wanted the sweat taste of revenge. He ordered his crew to prepare for boarding.

A British pirate walked briskly around the deck of his ship which was currently under attack by two of his enemies. But that didn't make any difference, he could be facing an armada and personally he wouldn't care, to him there was never a situation where he couldn't win. Even with all the odds against him. His face was stoic and frightfully calm, he knew what was happening; he still shouted orders to his crew to stay strong, to pull through; since this was only the beginning of this scramble for power. His eyes glanced up at the storm, it had started to sprinkle lightly, it wouldn't be long until it attacked the sea in full force, his gaze then passed to the shadow at the other side of his ship. He would wait, what a pathetic coward, he would only enter when the storm had entered full power, even now he could see the shadow increasing in size. But right now he had different priorities, he barked at one of his crew controlling the wheel of the ship; ordering him to take the boat out of the firing zone and to get them on the side of Carriedo's vessel. The ship veering to the side dangerously underneath eh strength of the motion it was undertaking, Arthur dodging a shard of a cannon ball.

The first strike of lightening lit up the sky; Gilbert grinned up at the masses of clouds swirling above him. Taking his ship closer to the escaping form of the Devil's galleon, the privateer was trying to get out of the line of fire, unfortunately and to the disappointment of Gilbert; his ship didn't sustain that much damage from the volley of attacks. The navy blue sea grew in intensity, white foam brushing into Gilbert's crimson eyes, tasting the salty air on his lips. His grand vessel quickly intercepted the Brits ship, oh how he could see the hate in those absinthe eyes.

"Fine if you want it that way." Arthur muttered, knowing full well of the third ship heading his way and how Antonio's ship had almost grazed the side of his galleon, "Unleash all the cannons."

Francis had advanced to the battle when he first saw the lightening, entering full speed into the fray of smoke, rain and gunfire. Seeing the British ship trapped between the two vessels that belonged to two very ferocious captains. He supposed that Arthur already knew that he was going to attack, who wouldn't expect it when The Black Eagle and The Red Terror had already ambushed you? Not that he was going to help ease that pain or something like that, if anything he was the one that hated that Devil the most. Francis' ship charged with guns blazing, striking at the exposed back of Arthur's ship. If only he could see the enraged eyes, to know that he, the English Devil, could be cornered.

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><p><strong>AN:** This was originally one longish chapter which ive split into three parts with kind of rushed choosing of points to split it at... the chapter was around 10 thousand words long...or was that ten pages...something like that.

Finally these three head into battle and it wont be their last...what else is there to say. Terrible editing cuz my editing friend is always busy...the plot will eventually start up i guess... and thank you (and i really mean thank you!) to everyone who favourites or reviews or follows me because you guys seriously make me fluffly and are awesome. Hopefully ill edit (HAHA edit..) the rest of this trilogy soon and all...(looks back on terrible updating record...i really need to finish something that isn't a oneshot...)


	10. Battle of Daemons

Arthur sneered; of course that French bastard would attack, though he had done it sooner than he had expected. It just would have been better if he had more space instead of being surrounded by his enemies, though he could see the damage that they were taking and he knew that it was more than they had anticipated. If he was going down, he wasn't going down without a fight; what idiot would think of such a preposterous idea? His head turned when he saw a rope snap in the air. He saw his own crew board the other ship but as he did he felt the press of metal on his neck. "So eager, Carriedo?"

The Spanish captain jeered, pushing his blade harder into Arthur's neck.

The English captain raised an eyebrow then he grinned though it looked like more of a cut in his face, "Why so soon do you attack? What is the point of it when there isn't any fun." Arthur swung his sword hard, knocking off the hold of Antonio's weapon.

The other just chuckled, normally on a different situation, in a different time; that laugh would have been on a cheerful day and would have brought on happiness. But that wasn't really what was happening in the lightening streaked sky which grumbled every few seconds or so.

"Who said there wasn't going to be any fun, Kirkland?" He struck out, though Arthur met the blade easily. "I will be having much fun as I skewer you repeatedly."

Arthur frowned, not at the threat; but because there were much better ways to have fun then to skewer someone repeatedly. That only got boring, it was much better to hear people scream, "Three on one, isn't that a bit unfair?" Arthur laughed, his tone already making obvious the sarcasm.

"You're one to talk; we are pirates are we not?"

Arthur glanced behind him, sighing when he felt another blade on his back, seeing the familiar blazing white hair. "Good day, Gilbert."

"Guten Tag, Arthur." The Black Eagle grinned, his teeth glowing, making him look like a beast.

"Well this is certainly interesting, when is Francis coming?" He asked, his tone betraying the situation he was in.

"Soon." They both answered. Kirkland tapping his boots impatiently on the wooden deck, then he disappeared. The Spanish and Prussian pirate stood shocked, eyes widened when the pirate they had been threatening was no longer in front of them. But instead of air they felt a heavy impact on their backs, before they saw a shadow pass through their glimpses as they scrambled off the floor. A wicked smirk on Arthur's face as he ran through his ship and onto the bundle of ropes holding the sails and masts in place, hand clutching the itchy rope. He cackled, the dark sound echoing on the sea and with the thunder. "Is that all? I thought this was going to be a challenge, if you're only going to stand their gawking, I might as well just kill you now."

"Bastardo." Antonio murmured but his face was alive with a smirk, Gilbert raising an eyebrow but familiar grin still in place. They both launched themselves at the pirate. Leaping to strike at the heart of the devil.

"That's more like it." Arthur's voice was an incomprehensible growl before he swung off his ship and onto the Beilschmidt's vessel, his boots clacked as he pounded off into the unfamiliar but familiar territory of the Prussian Black Eagle. He slashed at the door blocking him from the levels under the main deck, the pieces of wood clattering before he ran inside. Gilbert following seconds after, the Spaniard taking a different entrance to block off Arthur.

Gilbert paced around the memorized territory of his ship. How arrogant was the English Devil in thinking that he could enter his ship and survive, this was his territory? He looked into the different crevices, no longer running but instead walking patiently. If the rat wanted to be eaten then fine by him. The ship was musty around here, the wind was blowing in; making his surroundings feel ghostly and quiet though they weren't. He knew that Arthur Kirkland could sneak around and hide in shadows but not here, here it was different. He stabbed at a shadow to his right, behind a beam of wood. His sword came into contact with the body of a human. But as the lightening flashed, he knew that he had stabbed one of his crew. But there was no sound or strangle from the body and Gilbert just accepted that he was already dead and put here.

"You're taunting me Kirkland." He growled out, "Is that wise in this environment?" Gilbert blinked, stabbing his sword once again into a shadowy crevice, hitting wood this time, though there was a face next to the sword.

"Who knows?" Arthur stated, looking at the bloody sword that could have easily penetrated his skull, before glancing back at Gilbert and kicking him in the stomach. Beilschmidt anticipated this and had taken a few steps back. Arthur charged with his blade pointed at him. The clash of metal on metal rung in the enclosed room. It repeated again and again when their blades met in defence and attack. Arthur bringing his blade to defend himself from the strike coming from above, aiming another kick at the Prussian's stomach; this time it made impact and shoved Gilbert into one of the vertical beams. Arthur ran off again and Gilbert chasing when he had recovered himself, "Blasted coward!"

"You're one to talk, Beilschmidt!" Kirkland called out in venomous glee, disappearing into the shadows. The glint of his bloody sword the last thing for the Prussian to glimpse before he entered the darkness himself, growling in aggravation. His eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly, he was always quite good in the dark; of course being awesome like that had its drawbacks but he could deal with being called devil spawn or scum. It was something to do with his red eyes. Gilbert halted when he reached a familiar room, all the lights snuffed out.

"Came to the nest of the Black Eagle, have you?" Gilbert paced around in his cabin; the Devil was really arrogant if he was going to fight on his enemy's terms so easily. The Prussian took out his gun, pointing it straight ahead of him, before he swung it to his right; the shot rang loudly in the dead silence. But there wasn't even a stir of movement or the sound of death. Maybe he wasn't in the room after all. Gilbert quickly dismissed that thought, that was only what Kirkland wanted him to assume. Of course he was in the cabin, he had heard a murmur from that corner and shot in that direction but it looked like he hadn't killed him yet. Wait…did they ask to keep Kirkland alive or not? He mentally shrugged the ransom was dead or alive, it was just the choice to torture him or not. Gilbert held his gun loosely in his hand, he would look through every corner of his cabin and he could do it even in the inky blackness that consumed the room, with the occasional flash of lightening that illuminated the insides of the ship for a second of a second.

One such flash revealed the details of the captain's room in a glare of white before fading, giving the Prussian's back a good view of a sinister grin, the white teeth positioned a few centimetres from the bullet hole in the wall. Gilbert blinked a few times, feeling the stare of someone but when he turned around to face the shadows there was nothing, he frowned. He was sure there was something there. He cocked his gun again, tilting his head; he pressed the trigger, shooting several bullets into the wall before him, the chorus of small explosions mingling with the sound of thunder. A strike of lightening showing him a coat pockmarked with holes, thought there was the absence of a body.

"Oh shit." Gilbert ducked. Seeing the glimmer of metal slash at where his head was a few seconds ago.

"Lucky bastard." Arthur growled, his loose shirt glowing oddly in the storm, a stream of red decorating one sleeve where a bullet had grazed him.

The pirate moved instantly, charging forward to get retrieve his coat and hat, he rather like them, though the bullet holes were a shame. Before he disappeared out the only exit.

"I am not chasing after him again; Antonio can go handle that rat." Gilbert sighed, sitting on his desk. Yes he was meant to be an unrelenting force on the seas but when it didn't exactly impact him; he didn't really care, though the battle was always enjoyable.

"Wait, if Kirkland is busy trying to escape with his life and Antonio is busy trying to end his life and Francis is just waiting for the right moment to strike. Then they're all busy and no one would care if I started to sneak around." He grinned, a heinous plot forming in the confounds of his mind, "Especially around in Arthur's ship, who knows what secrets are hidden in that cursed vessel." Gilbert stood up, a new bounce in his step; sheathing his sword he beamed evilly while making his way out of his ship.

Arthur slowed down to a walk, to his surprise and suspicion the Prussian hadn't followed after him; he suspected the other was up to something but he had things to deal with right now. He put on his cloak, frowning at the bullet holes in the expensive fabric. He had to steal another one soon or maybe get one from the Empire, they would give anything for his services to the crown. They couldn't afford to lose such a powerful asset to their quest to colonise the world. He shoved his hat back on his head, it had faced many bullet holes already and frankly he wouldn't be surprised if it just fell apart soon but oddly it still held firm.

"Now, it looks like there isn't anything interesting on this ship."

Arthur took a moment to look around his surroundings, he would be able to return to the surface through the left, then up; if he remembered correctly; Carriedo's ship was right next to the Beilschmidt's. Maybe he should torment that Spaniard a bit more.

He ran out to the deck, the ship pelted by raindrops; the deck soaking in inch deep water. Arthur pounded, his feet drenched from the rainwater. His hair had become plastered to his face from the rain, the numbness from the constant pouring of the heavens had started to dwell in his body, helping him deal with the cold icy wetness. He dodged through the masses of people fighting on the decks; mainly the trio's crew against his but he had his agents, not that any of those other pirates knew.

The captain leaped on to the edge of the boat where all the ropes were holding down the strained sails. He really needed another method to travel through ships in battles but leaping wasn't a good idea; the sea could kill more than any nation or war. He wrapped his hand around the rope. He slashed his weapon at the onslaught of his enemy's crew who had noticed him in his path to Antonio's ship, feeling the impact of flesh but these were small fry. He cut down on the knot that as keeping the rope taunt, feeling the pull that lifted him into the air; a dull throb in his arm. The wind scratched at his face and the raindrops collided with his narrowed eyes as he tried to keep an eye to where he was going. His grip on the rose loosened when he saw the cluttered deck of Antonio's ship, letting go completely as he hardened himself for the impact.

"Dammit! It doesn't usually hurt that much!" He muttered darkly as he attempted to not fall over, keeping himself still in case a twinge of movement disturbed his already frail centre of gravity. "Now where the fuck is the-" He was cut off by the sound of a bullet hurtling past him.

"Hola."

Arthur raised an eyebrow as he turned around to face the Spaniard leaning cockily on the centre mast, the pistol still in his hand, the smoke leaking from the gun barrel melding with the rain. He ducked when he heard more of the bullets, running while his coat trailed behind him, falling victim to more bullet holes. Antonio taking his time as he shot at the running Englishman, he mind remarkably clear from battle rage and just content to see the other get punctured by bullets. Grinning sadistically, he hadn't even started sword fighting yet.

Arthur clutched at the shoulder of a Spanish man, muttering something into his ear before walking off behind one of the masts, pushing his back on it as he tried to catch his breath. He brandished his sword, noticing a man charging at him with an overzealous battle cry. He sighed, shaking his head in exasperation before he stabbed into the man's heart when the man had reached him the sailor falling, his sword poised to strike. Some people just didn't learn.

"Still hiding, Devil!" The voice was closer to him now, maybe his opponent finally wanted to start fighting instead of shooting at him like he was some game. Arthur chuckled darkly, the bullet graze he had gained from the Prussian still throbbed.

"Well you aren't anymore." The familiar tone came from his left, the beaming face snark and conniving as he pressed the muzzle of his gun at the Englishman's ribcage.

"Tch."

"Should I blow out your guts now or should I torture you as you have me?" Antonio whispered. Arthur shrugged, feeling the hollow circle press harder into his chest. "You're certainly giving this a lot of thought."

"I want to enjoy it."

"Pity." Arthur stated. Carriedo raising an eyebrow before an idea struck him, "No I will just humiliate you."

"And how will you do that exactly?"

"You have an extraordinary sense of pride; it will hurt you the most when the world would learn of the pitiful state of, you, Arthur Kirkland _under_ a Spanish captain." His smile grew as he saw the sneer from the Englishman.

Arthur started laughing, closing the distance between the two captains until their noses were almost touching, the other face guarded at the close proximity. "No way in hell bastard." Arthur pressed the trigger, Antonio realised what the Blond was doing and jumped back; barely dodging the bullet that was aimed for him. Arthur still holding onto his own gun.

"Lucky bastard. That should have killed you once and for all." He stood up, shoving his gun back into his belt. He charged, cutting the sword diagonally, aiming to slash at Antonio's chest. Said captain had recovered from the shock of almost dying, already having his sword in time to defend himself. The collision of the swords powerful enough to make the both of them take a few steps back. Arthur returning with even greater force, Antonio parried, making the other recoil. They met again and again. The Spaniard attacked fervently, Arthur forced into only making defensive strikes. He scowled, grabbing the shirt of some Spanish crew member he thrust him into the general direction of the opposing pirate. It was too late for Antonio to stop his attack and he stabbed into the chest of one of his crew. Growing at the offending Brit who was smirking. He slid his sword out of the man's body, the weapon making a slick sound before the man dropped onto the floor.

"He was pretty useful, you know." Antonio muttered, looking down at the dead man.

"Well too bad then."

Antonio once again slashed at him, Arthur sidestepping and blocking the sword before it could go any further. Sliding the metal against the pirate's sword, he made a move for his chest; however, the brown haired captain kicked him before he could make another move. Arthur collided with the mast, his body not prepared for the direct attack. From the corner of his eye he saw the brief nod from a Spaniard. He grunted while his back strained from the sudden impact. He spared a look at his ship, he should return to it soon; he saw a glimpse of a white head of hair. He sneered before he saw the looming appearance of a third ship.

"So Francis is finally here?"

"It appears so." The Terror answered, smirking at Arthur's slightly hunched body. "You're not going to last much longer are you."

"Who knows?" Arthur growled he sprinted from Antonio, hearing the other chase him readily; he heard the small explosions of gunshots once again, silently mourning his coat. "You can't let of that gun can't you?!"

Arthur slip under a low flying mast, "You're can't kill me without it! You can't beat me in a swordfight!" He screeched, hearing the furious growl of his chaser.

"You're wrong Kirkland!" He shouted back, leaping to bring his sword down on the Brit. Arthur turned around to easily block the attack, forcing him back. "Am I really?" He tripped the Spanish pirate. Antonio struck the floor, his back becoming more drenched in the rainwater. Arthur pointed the edge of his weapon at Antonio's neck, "You have yet to defeat me, in fact; I've almost killed you several times over."

A searing pain erupted in Arthur's shoulder, his eyes widened; his sword hand slumped as his other hand clutched at his shoulder. He swore, feeling the thick slippery feeling of blood and the familiar feeling of a bullet lodged into his flesh. He glanced behind him; seeing a face he was accustomed to hating. The Frenchman blowed on the gun, smirking from his balanced position on the sail mast, "Bonjour diable."

Arthur glared at the man who had caused blood to stain his coat. He glimpsed Bonnefoy chuckle as he aimed again, closing one eye and tilting his head for the effect. The Brit scoffed, forcing the dulling ache into the back of his mind. "Long time no see." He muttered, glancing back in between Antonio and Francis; both of them armed and aiming for his death, he straightened out, the movement burning his shoulder. "Took you a while to get to this stage."

"Ah, of course Kirkland but whose fault was that I guess? Can't you just surrender for once?" Bonnefoy reprimanded, his sly voice like a sharpened sword.

"The ridiculousness of that statement confounds me; how could I, the English Devil, ever surrender? Especially to a cowardly scum of a Frenchman like you." Arthur laughed harshly, pacing around them; their weapons aimed at his every move as he continued to walk around deck.

"I don't know but I suppose in your defence it wouldn't make a difference to your fate in the end whether you surrender or not." Bonnefoy stated, using the opportunity to slide down from the mast, his shoes clacking as they made contact with the wood, a small puddle of water splashing. Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, his hand firm but relaxed on the hilt of his sword. Antonio and Francis began to circle the cornered Brit, slowly but keeping the other from running away.

"I'm surprised you haven't ran off yet, Kirkland." Carriedo sneered, "You have quite the ability of running away when things don't suit your plans."

"What can I say; I'm a pirate; or more accurately a privateer but a pirate yet the same."

Francis jeered, "Scum of the government; you're precious British Empire won't help you here." Arthur laughed, "You assume they help me; you're dumber than you look! The only thing they're good for is for not killing me. Personally I only became a privateer because it was useful to me but really there's not much to gain, there's more to lose though." Arthur swung around his sword, "But you two would know that, being privateers yourself."

Antonio growled and Francis frowned, "Well I think the chatter ends here boys." The Frenchman stated, seeing Arthur smirk, the Brit gripping the weapon harder. "Well I enjoyed it when it lasted."

Francis and Antonio both struck out, both aiming for the Brit from opposite angles. Arthur ducked; the scathing of the two metals clashing against one another. He scowled but wiped the grimace off his face, washing it with a full on smirk. He ran through the space left by the other two pirates; it was unoriginal but really, it was all in his master plan in the end. He couldn't defeat them by himself, really if you stacked the odds against him he should be dead but then he should've been dead a long time ago. "Do you mean the chatter or your life, Arthur?" The British pirate heard the whisper; he flung himself from the words. Just managing to not get blasted by the Spaniards rifle, glaring at the man casually throwing the weapon in the air and catching it, "You're getting slower, don't ya think."

"He is isn't he?" Francis muttered darkly, pressing himself behind the Englishman, both of the pirates had expected the Devil to run, though they hadn't expected it to go so well to their plans. Francis pressed the blade threateningly into where the spinal cord was of the smaller blond. "Though, personally I find it quite impressive that you've survived for so long already."

Arthur chuckled sarcastically. "You're one to talk, bastard." His eyes were clouded, "But where is that Prussian friend of yours?"

Antonio halted, "Where is Gilbert?" The absence of the Black Eagle finally making an impact on them.

Kirkland smiled, "Oh is there a fracture in the company?"

Francis snarled, "Antonio, as much as you want to skewer this sewer rat, I think you should look for Beilschmidt and I'll deal with the Devil." Antonio was about to disagree, his mouth open to start another sentence but he recognised something different in the Frenchman's eyes. "Fine." The Spaniard frowned but then turned to find the missing pirate, his red coat flailing into the storm. Arthur watching as the whole conversation wavered past him, he couldn't really do anything with the knife at his back.

"Now it's just the two of us."

"Indeed." Arthur muttered.

"Now why haven't you run away yet? I've surely given you the chance to escape by now." Francis twisted the knife, the edge of the blade now drawing blood on the Englishman's back.

"Why, give you chance to set a trap, really now you should know me better than that." Arthur kept himself from wincing at the break of skin, hopefully the other wouldn't notice the way his hand was twisting around.

"Well, it's going to hurt if you're going to stay in this position."

Arthur smirked, feeling a cold weight in his hand, "For me or for you." He flipped the small dagger in his hand, stabbing it in the direction of Bonnefoy's gut. "Really Kirkland, you are most predictable today." Arthur's wrist was stopped in its tracks, the knife still held in his hand. "Tch." But the dagger was now no longer pressed against his back.

Arthur took the opportunity to swing the hand with his sword, the point of the blade aimed at the Frenchman's throat, his other hand still grasped by the other, he raised an eyebrow snarkily. "Going to let go now?"

Francis twitched his head, replying with a strained smile. His hand reluctantly loosening the grip it had on Arthur's wrist, taking his time as he switched the knife in his other hand for his sword. "Well then, I guess this is going to have to be sorted in the way of the sword, non."

"Thank you for stating the obvious." Arthur started to move away from the Frenchman but his steps arched as the other mirrored his movements, their eyes battling as they waited for their opponent to make a move; walking in a rough circle, one foot over the other.

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><p><strong><em>AN:_**Okay Part two of the _bad touch trio vs. england trilogy..._Okay i tried editing this...i actually tried (i sat down with a printed out copy and crossed out stuff [its actually better than editing on a computer in my opinion]) but im not sure of the outcome because whenever i write something it makes perfect sense to me and not to anyone else...

this is the longest of the three and guess what...i made a reasonable update...


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